Animo
by themadyjones
Summary: A little over a year has passed since Loki was sent back to Asgard to be imprisoned for crimes against Earth, and already a new threat has come up. The Avengers must now look to a young girl in order to bring an end to this attack.
1. Prologue: Sixteen

Prologue: Sixteen

"Happy birthday, Mo!" some person from school said as they walked by. I turned and waved, giving them a smile, and returned to the serious task that I was dealing with in that moment.

_Okay, white or wheat?_ I thought to myself. With a glance down at my hand, I studied the shopping list that my mom had given to me. "Wheat," I said, looking back up and grabbing the first bag of bread I saw, tucking it under my arm. Then I was off again, speed-walking down the aisles to the frozen food section.

"Do you need any help, miss?" some random store attendant asked.

I called a 'no' over my shoulder as I sped by her. I wanted to go _home_, not stand around and discuss the best kind of frozen pizza, which I was picking out at that moment. I settled for supreme, knowing that my family liked it best.

Next item on the list: ice cream. _Get at least two flavors,_ Mom had written. _You pick, we'll eat whatever._ Score.

I thought over the selection of ice cream that the store had to offer. There was an entire freezer full of my options. "Chocolate? No, chocolate is too boring…," I mumbled to myself. Ben & Jerry's Half-Baked sounded good, paired with their Phish Food ice cream. I added those to the pile of groceries in my arms.

I hobbled my way to the bakery section. Mom had requested that I get a cake from there, claiming she'd already ordered one. All I needed to do was pick it up.

While I stood in front of the display case, peering around the pizza I had squished into my armpit, another attendant strolled over with a cart. I thanked her graciously and arranged my food items inside. She walked off again.

"Monet?" someone from behind the cases called out.

"Right here," I answered, assuming they meant me. I didn't know anyone who's _first_ name was Monet. I made a face at the thought. It was bad enough _my _first name was Kristy. I felt bad for the possibility of a chick walking around with her first name being Monet.

I blew out a puff of air. My thoughts were becoming weird and random. I was confusing myself.

The lady handed the cake to me. "What kind is it?" I asked her, trying to summon up a scrap of x-ray vision to see inside.

"It's vanilla, with white frosting."

"Is the frosting whipped?"

"No, I don't believe so."

I thanked the lady for the cake and set it in the cart with a grimace. Frosting was disgusting. The only kind I liked was the whipped stuff. The rest I refused to eat. I wondered who the cake was for. Probably someone at Mom or Dad's work.

I was picking out different flavors of pop when someone yelled. "Mo!"

I nearly dropped the bottle of Pepsi I had in my hand. I turned toward the girl's voice, spying Jenna fast-walking toward me with a big smile, her cousins in tow.

Her cousins.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest as the three of them grew nearer. I tried so hard to not stare at Brendon, but God, it was so hard. His blond hair was slightly tousled; his cheeks were a little flushed from the effort of keeping up with his ever-energetic cousin, Jenna. His twin brother, Brayden, looked similar. I smiled at the irony of those thoughts.

Jenna, my best friend, threw her arms around me. "Happy birthday, Mo!" she squealed.

"Thanks!" I exclaimed, hugging her back while awkwardly trying to place the bottle in the cart. Someone took it from my hand and set it in there for me. Jenna let go and I saw it was Brayden who'd done it. I nodded acknowledgement to him.

"Happy birthday," he said with a grin. Brayden was always the more outgoing one. He was the cuter one, too, but for some strange reason I liked his brother more. It was funny; Brendon's and my personalities were polar opposites.

Brendon took a step forward. A small smile played across his lips. "Happy birthday, Mo." My name, so loved by me because it wasn't my real name, sounded ever the more sweet when it escaped from his mouth.

I gave a confident smile. "Thanks." My superpower: confidence around guys. And my mimicry, I guess.

"Aw, so cute!" Jenna squeaked.

"Aw, so cute!" I said in a completely perfect imitation of Jenna's voice. Brendon blushed and looked away. Brayden watched me with a goofy smirk.

Jenna crossed her arms in mock anger. "Why do you do that to me?"

I stuck out my tongue. "'Cause it's fun, and I'm good at it." Don't forget my modesty.

She laughed, said good-bye, and ushered the two boys away.

I grabbed another bottle of Pepsi and headed for the check-out aisle.

oOoOo

"No, I'm serious!" I screamed into my cell phone.

Grace's ears must be ringing by now. I'd called her, my other best friend, in happy hysterics because Brendon had wished me a happy birthday. My voice rose in pitch each time I spoke, which probably drove her crazy.

"I can't believe it! Best birthday ever, huh?" Grace said, sounding like she was smiling on the other end. "What are you doing now?"

"I'm on my way home. Mom had me pick up some groceries for her."

"Sounds like a fun time. When do you get presents?"

"Not sure. Probably after we eat." I was pulling into the driveway of my house as I said this. "Hey, Grace, I'm home, so I'm going to let you go now."

"Alright, cool. Tell Adam I said hello." After the promise that I would and a birthday wish from Grace, we hung up.

oOoOo

"…Happy birthday, dear Mo. Happy birthday to you!" Mom, Dad, and my brother, Adam, sang happily.

"Now blow out the candles!" Mom ushered.

That stupid lady. She'd called the bakery chick and told her to lie about the kind of cake! It was really a chocolate cake with whipped vanilla frosting, and _Happy 16__th__, Mo! _was scrawled across the top of it in blue gel. Tiny blue and orange candles, sixteen of them to be exact, were scattered around with tiny flames dancing atop them. Regardless of my irritation with her, I sucked in a breath and blew out each individual light.

Adam wrapped his strong, tanned arms around me and squeezed. He planted a kiss on the top of my head. "Happy b-day, sis," he said in his moderately husky voice.

Adam was eighteen, a senior in the same high school I went to. He had rumpled curls the color of mud. A gross comparison, yes, but accurate. He also had the same crystal blue eyes as me and our mom. Dad's eyes were more greenish than bluish.

Now, most girls dream of having some big, expensive Sweet 16 party, but I was perfectly content to spend the evening with just the four of us. I took a bite of pizza, the very same pizza I'd bought that day. The Pepsi was also dumped into assorted plastic cups. Ben & Jerry were thawing on the counter. Those sneaky people I called my family.

A few slices of pizza later, Mom was snapping pictures and Dad was cutting the cake into neat little squares. Adam pulled a piece out of the middle, the one that had _Mo_ written on it, and put it on a plate with a sample of each flavor of ice cream. He handed it to me. I took it gratefully, then regretted it, because only a few seconds later, Adam picked up the cake and shoved it into my face, smearing chocolate and frosting all over my nose and around my mouth, looking like a crude makeup job.

_Snap!_ Mom took a picture as it happened.

I couldn't help laughing, no matter how angry I was that he'd just squished my name all over me. He joined me, and then our parents did, too. I couldn't imagine a better day as I licked the frosting and cake mixture around my mouth.

oOoOo

A new computer game and pair of black boots later, I was changed into pajamas and passed out on my bed, my iPod playing softly on my nightstand.

oOoOo

"I love you, Mo. I always have," Brendon smiled, taking my hands.

"I love you, too." My eyes were filling with tears. It was officially the best day of my entire life. The guy of my dreams, the boy I'd loved since eighth grade, was finally admitting his affection for me.

His glittering green eyes glistened as he leaned in. I followed suit, closing my eyes. Time for the perfect kiss.

_Poke._

I imagined that it was just my heart, hammering away in my chest, and continued to move closer. Nothing would ruin this moment.

_Poke._

Everything was moving in slow motion. We were so close-

_POKE!_

I snapped my eyes open, interrupting my beautiful dream, and flung myself off my bed, swinging my leg to hit Adam's face that I was sure was grinning. I'd taken martial arts for three years; I frequently practiced my moves on him.

"God, Adam, why did you have to ruin it?" I screamed, kicking with all my might.

My right foot connected with flesh.

"Ow!" a man's voice exclaimed.

It wasn't my father. It certainly wasn't Adam.


	2. Chapter 1: Kidnapped

Chapter One: Kidnapped

I straightened out my body and backed away, gingerly moving my foot. The guy's face was _hard_! My room was so dark I couldn't see who was standing there. I could only make out faint shadows, but I could clearly see that there were more people than just him standing near.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" I demanded, reaching for my lamp. I turned the switch and was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the light. When my vision cleared, I saw five people assembled in my bedroom, where most of the space was taken up by my queen-sized bed. The man I'd kicked was rubbing his jaw.

"Okay, hold up." I stared at him, a faint flicker of recognition burning at the back of my mind. "I know you." I looked at him for another moment, and the answer came to me. "Where's your suit of armor, Iron Man? My kick wouldn't have hurt quite as bad." I said, sarcasm flying off of my lips.

"How'd you recognize me without my suit?" Playfulness laced through his words, even though his eyes were shocked.

"Just seems like that's who you are."

His eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Then who is everyone else?"

I turned my attention to the man standing next to him. He had short, light blonde hair, a stern gaze, and a rigid stance to make any military officer proud. I'm sure he did, back in the day. _Way_ back. "Captain America," I said, nodding in respect to him.

A woman stood on the opposite side of the room, her bright red curls falling gently to her shoulders. One fist was pressed against her hip; the other one covered her yawn. "Black Widow, right?" She smiled in affirmation, a sly smirk.

"And, Hulk, if I'm correct. Why aren't you green?"

The man I'd spoken to was dressed in normal clothes, just like the rest of them. It looked strange on him, however, because he wasn't giant and green and angry like most of America and the world was used to seeing. "That's only temporary," he said softly.

Thor was easy enough to identify. Even in jeans and a t-shirt, a blind person could see the air of power he held around him, the muscles that he sported. And his long blonde hair. "Thor?" The grin he gave me made my heart thump. _Gorgeous._

I looked around. "Where's Hawkeye? Shouldn't he be here too?"

"I am."

I turned my head to look behind me. There stood Hawkeye, perfectly balanced on the headboard of my bed. How had I not woken up when he obviously had to _get on the bed_ in order to be up there? "How are you not breaking my bed? And why are you up there in the first place?" I snapped, getting defensive over my lack of observation.

"Are you calling me fat?" he asked, stepping off and landing lightly on the floor. "That's not nice. I can see better from higher up. Not as much turning of the head."

I sniffed in indignation and sat back down on my bed. A quick glance at my clock told me that it was after eleven at night. _Still my birthday,_ I thought with a smile. I leaned my head against my pillows and closed my eyes.

"Don't you even think about going back to sleep!" Iron Man's voice entered my ears like a bunch of angry wasps.

"Who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can't do?" I growled, opening my eyes again. I sat back up and glared at all of them.

He held out a hand. "I'm Tony Stark, that's who," he replied. I swatted his hand away. "Captain America here, his name is Steve Rogers. The guy you called fat is Clint Barton –" I hissed at his accusation. "– over there is Natasha Romanoff. Everyone knows who Thor is. And Hulk is Dr. Bruce Banner. You know, the guy who disappeared after a gamma radiation accident?"

"Thanks, Stark," Hulk, or Banner, I guess, and apparently a doctor, said drily. Stark gave him a prize-winning smile.

"Great. Pleased to meet all of you. Can I go back to bed now?" I asked with a yawn. To my utter amusement and satisfaction, the rest of them yawned in unison. I slid my feet under covers, inching my way toward dreamland.

"No." Barton said. "You need to stay awake, and come with us."

This got my attention. "Excuse me?"

Natasha Romanoff spoke up. "You need to come with us, Kristy."

"Mo," I corrected automatically, flinching. _God, I hate my name._ "Why?"

"You aren't safe here, not at this time." Rogers, who had remained silent this whole time, crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot. He honestly made me want to stand up and salute him, but I decided against it.

"Why?"

"Can't you say anything but 'Why'?" Stark snapped.

My head whipped around to launch a snarky retort at him, but Barton beat me to it. "You're just upset because a fifteen-year-old girl kicked you."

"I'm actually sixteen, now." I looked at my clock again. "It's my birthday for another…forty-two minutes."

"Well, then, happy birthday. Now get up and come with us." Rogers was looking at me with silent command. Or, spoken command, rather, because he'd told me what to do. I was confusing myself again. At my hesitation, he continued. "Don't think that we're lying to you. If you stay here, there is the ultimate possibility that something very, very bad will happen to you."

I bit my lip and glanced toward my door. "But what about my family? My mom and dad, my brother?"

"They will be fine. It's not them that are in danger here, but if you stay, you'll be putting them at risk."

Everyone was silent for a moment while I contemplated my options. I could go with them, while remaining completely unaware of whether or not these people were actually the real Avengers. Not to mention the fact that I'd be leaving any chance I'd have with Brendon. Or, I could stay, with the potential of getting Mom, Dad, and Adam killed. What choice did I really have?

"I'll go," I said quietly, looking down. My dark curls fell into a position that blocked my peripheral vision. I didn't want to see any of them. I wanted to close my eyes and go back to sleep, because I was sure that this was all just a dream, just a nightmare.

"Go back to sleep, then. We can leave in the morning." Rogers voice was just as quiet as mine, muffled a little bit through my mass of hair. I'm sure my bedhead looked just _wonderful_.

I laid back down and pulled my blankets around myself. I reached for my iPod, unlocking it and changing the song. My Chemical Romance poured out of the tiny speakers as I yawned again. I saw Stark's grimace at my choice of music, but I didn't care; my eyes were closing.

"Night, Mo," someone said.

oOoOo

_That was such a weird dream,_ I mused, stretching my legs.

I was only half awake, but alert enough to realize something was wrong. Not wrong, exactly, but…different. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. My blanket fell off my legs, and I shivered. Looking around, I was correct. Something was different. _Everything_ was different.

The bed was not my bed. For one, it was a twin bed. Second, all my decorative pillows were missing, and I had one white blanket. The room was not my room. The walls were a dusty light gray, the flooring was laminate wood. My bedroom at home had yellow walls and white carpet. Where was I?

A thought struck me. _That was no dream,_ I thought. _Oh God, I've been kidnapped!_

Panic coursed through my veins, a reaction that was mostly new. I didn't experience that emotion all that often. I stood, fists coiled. I spun in circles, searching for a hidden door for someone to come leaping out of. There was only the metal door that I was sure I was carried through.

_What if they aren't even the real Avengers? What if they're just some weird freaks that enjoy creeping into girls' rooms on their birthdays, spoiling their dreams about being kissed? Oh no, oh no._

I stopped and listened. Voices. I heard voices. Whose were they?

I got back on the bed and curled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them. I'd go and listen at the door, but they were loud enough now that I could make out most of what they were saying. They'd gotten closer to my room.

"-got her, just like we said we would." That was Stark's voice, that outrageously arrogant sound that made me want to bang my head against the wall.

There were some muffled noises that were too quiet for my ears, then "-no, she's asleep." Rogers's voice, even and empty.

"Then go wake her up." I heard that one fine, but I didn't know who'd said it. I'd never heard that person speak before.

"Not me! She hurt me when I woke her up last time!" It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was Stark talking again. The group of people sounded like they were right outside my door now.

"So she kicked you in the face. Big deal," Thor's deep voice swam in my ears. It was such a beautiful noise. I smiled. "I will go get her."

"Very good," the stranger agreed, and I heard footsteps walking away.

The smile faded. He was coming to get me. The strange person I didn't know was requesting that he come get me. My eyes widened when the sound of a key rattling in a lock resounded in the quiet, empty space I was occupying. I took a moment to feel anger that they'd locked me in, and then resumed my fear. I still didn't know if they were imposters or not!

The door opened and bright light filtered in. I hadn't even noticed how dark it was in there. Thor's silhouette appeared the doorway.

I stood on the thin mattress and pressed myself into the corner of the wall, trying the stay as far away from him as I could, while at the same time gaining a good position for attacking. "Stay away from me," I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Come down from there," Thor commanded, crossing the floor quickly, his shoes clicking on the weird wood. He reached his arms out to get me. I slashed at his hands, pleased that I'd kept my fingernails long. "There's no need for violence. I'm not trying to harm you."

"I don't believe you." I leaned harder against the wall, standing on my toes. Call me crazy, but sometimes I felt I had better balance on my toes.

Or not. Thor swept an arm behind my knees, causing me to fall onto the bed with a high-pitched shriek. He grabbed my waist with both hands. I struggled, trying to get away, but man, that guy was _strong_. He flung me over his shoulder and walked to the door.

I kicked my legs furiously. "Put me down!" I yelled. He made no move to comply with my wishes. _Desperate times call for desperate measures,_ I thought. If he wouldn't let go of me, I'd at least make sure he felt some regret for it.

So I dug my nails into his back, trying to claw him. No good. I twisted in his grasp and screeched, grabbing fistfuls of his long blonde hair. I twined my fingers through it and pulled. He made no move to stop me, just kept walking. Whatever. If he could keep on doing what he was doing, then so could I.

I screamed and hollered, making much more noise than was really necessary, but I didn't care. I wanted _down_, damn it! If I could have managed to bite him, I would have, but pulling his gorgeous hair was good enough.

Thor opened a door and we stepped inside. I didn't stop my screams for an instant.

"What the hell is going on here?" the stranger's voice said.

I stopped yelling and pulling then. But the fear didn't go away. I pushed it aside and made room for anger as Thor gently set me down.

"Thor, are you okay?" Stark asked. I turned around to see that all of them were assembled, along with a man who I assumed was the stranger. I glared at Stark. Bitterness made me grit my teeth at his amused expression.

Thor chuckled. "I'm fine." One look at his face proved he wasn't lying. His eyes were filled with good-natured humor. He caught me watching and smiled.

I looked down at my hands, hoping I wasn't blushing, and saw several strands of blonde hair in my clenched fists. Now I did blush. "I'm sorry," I said softly, glancing at him. He patted my shoulder.

The stranger stood from the chair he'd been sitting in. I looked him over: he had dark, dark skin and a darker beard. His head was bald, but it didn't look weird. He wore black clothing, and, to my astonishment, an eye patch. I stifled the laughter that threatened to burst out. "I see you had a successful time getting her, Thor," he said.

"Who are you?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously with _both_ of my eyes. I smirked.

"My name is Nick Fury. I'm the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the agency that started The Avengers. We work toward the protection of our country, a responsibility that is, if your worthy, to be partially bestowed upon you. Do you understand?" His rough voice added to the image of a pirate that I was conjuring.

"What happened to your eye?" I asked, ignoring the question.

"That's not important," Fury replied hastily.

"Of course it is," I protested.

"In what way?"

"Well, if I don't get a real reason, then I'll be forced to assume that you lost your eye to a battle with Captain Jack in a swordfight over Davy Jones's treasure. So tell me, Nick Fury, are you a pirate?" I smiled cheekily as the group laughed. Not Fury, though. He looked like he'd murder me.

"Do you understand," he repeated through gritted teeth.

I stared at him with hardened eyes. "If you mean about you really being a pirate, then aye-aye, Captain. If you mean about being kidnapped from my bed _on my birthday_ and getting to become a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. for God knows what reason, then yes. I understand you perfectly." I said this and switched over to imitate Fury. "Do _you_ understand?"

Fury stepped forward so that he was towering over me. "Say that again," he ordered. "Hold up both of your hands and say that again."

Confused, I held both of my hands up and, in Fury's voice, said, "Do _you_ understand?"

Something close to a smile appeared briefly on his face. "That's impressive. Kristy Monet, I believe that I may have discovered your superpower."

"My name is Mo," I corrected. "And you've got to be kidding me. Mimicking people isn't a superpower, Black Beard. It's just what I do when I get bored."

"Are you saying you're bored?"

"Standing here, talking about my 'superpower'. Oh no. _Of course not_." Sarcasm laced in and out between the words I spit like venom. I clenched my fists, those same ones that still held pieces of Thor's hair.

Fury ignored those words and turned away from me. "Barton, Romanoff." The two of them straightened in their chairs. "I'm putting the two of you in charge of training Monet, starting now. Go."

The two of them stood and walked briskly toward me. Each of them took one of my arms, and then they proceeded to usher me out of the room.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a black duffel bag. It looked familiar. "Is that mine?" I asked them, not caring that everyone else was staring at me. At Barton and Romanoff's nods, I pulled out of their grasp and trotted over to reclaim it.

We headed down the hallway toward the room I deemed mine. My duffel bag swung from my hand, and an almost happy smile was stuck to my face. I had a little piece of home now.

"Do you want me to carry that?" Barton reached out his left hand to take the bag from me. His fingers brushed mine, creating a static shock that made me jerk my hand away, taking the bag with me. I stared at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"No," I said. "No, I'm fine." Our walking resumed.

We stopped outside my door. "We'll wait here. Go change, do what you need to do." Natasha Romanoff gave me a half smile.

I went inside and shut the door behind me. Then I went through the bag, tossing out everything. Whoever had packed it for me had done a good job getting all the necessities: clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant. I sincerely hoped it was Romanoff that'd done it. But…no iPod. Nobody had bothered to get me my music, and for some reason, that hurt the worst.

I hastily shed my pajama bottoms and T-shirt and pulled on black athletic shorts and a blue tee. I checked the bag again: no shoes. Guess shoes weren't important either.

After running a brush through my hair, I decided I looked okay enough to present myself. I rejoined Barton and Romanoff, who were waiting patiently for me. I hoped I hadn't kept them waiting long.

"You clean up quick," Barton noted, erasing any apologies I had on my tongue. I raised my eyebrows. "What? Natasha takes forever."

Natasha swatted his arm; I laughed. We walked again, the two of them leading me even further down the long, seemingly never-ending hallway. I walked in between them, mulling over questions that flitted through my mind. Barton and Natasha were also silent, thinking over thoughts of their own.


	3. Chapter 2: Animo

Chapter Two: Animo

"Come on, Mo, you can kick harder than that!"

I threw a glare and a hiss Barton's way and aimed again at Natasha. She was jumping from side-to-side on her toes, easily dodging my kicks. We'd been at it for an hour or two, and I hadn't had much luck in the offense area. The hits I did land, however, were not some of my best work.

My left foot, my weaker foot, shot out and missed Natasha's stomach by inches.

"Mo. Seriously. I thought you took martial arts." Barton was egging me on from the sidelines, a worthy substitute for Stark's critical words.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," I countered. "Not if we're on the same team."

In truth, I hadn't taken fighting classes since seventh grade. In the back of my mind, I figured they already knew that. My words were partially valid, though. I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I doubted that I actually could.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. Now try to actually land a hit on me." Natasha gave me a sly smile. A taunting glint shone in her green eyes.

I straightened up out of my crouch. My fists were clenched at my sides. Extreme concentration flowed through my bloodstream. I stared hard at Natasha, watching her jump from one spot to another. As I stood there, she began to make a circle around me.

That same sneaky grin was plastered to her face. For some reason, it triggered anger inside me, awaking some fighting instinct that had remained dormant for a few years. I wanted to wipe that grin off her face.

I dug my nails into my palms, and made my move in one quick, fluid motion. I threw my left hand backwards; my fingertips landed lightly on the smooth floor. My right leg, now rotated to the very top, lashed out and sent my foot sailing toward Natasha's surprised face. My bare heel collided with her nose.

My right hand landed neatly on the ground next to my left; I pushed myself back up to a standing position and took in the damage I'd done.

Natasha was sitting on the floor, holding her nose. When she moved her hand, it was shiny with fresh blood. I'd given her a bloody nose. Barton laughed from behind me, a silly, happy laugh. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "I think I love you?" he said, his voice implying that it was more of a question than a statement.

I had to grit my teeth together to keep my jaw from dropping. _What?_ I thought to myself. _Love me?_ Of course, to keep up my tough girl appearance, I gave him a look of disgust. "Do you, now?" I scoffed, while inside I was pleased that I'd done something right.

Barton's goofy smile faded and he shrugged, looking away from me. I shook my head and offered Natasha a hand. She took it and got to her feet.

She wiped at her nose, smearing more of the blood. "Ouch," she murmured.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah, sorry about that. But you told me to kick you."

Natasha laughed a little. It sounded different, due to her busted nose, but its meaning was the same: she didn't hate me. "And so I did!" She smiled at me, and I had to giggle. I couldn't take her seriously with the red looking like she had a mustache.

"Um, should we do something about your nose?" I asked, biting my lip with a grin.

She nodded. "Yeah, I'll go find Banner and have him take a look at it." Then she left.

I looked at Barton. "I thought Banner was a science doctor or something like that. Does he fix people, too?"

Barton turned back toward me. "Yeah, he's a science guy. But I'm pretty sure he can fix a bloody nose." He gave me a half smile that touched the very depths of his dark blue eyes. For a moment my breath was taken away, but I recovered quickly.

"So, what's next?" I asked casually.

He looked thoughtful for a minute. "Well, that was offense. Now let's try defense?" He phrased it like a question, waiting for my confirmation.

I nodded. "Yeah, whatever. Let's do it."

oOoOo

One Kevlar vest later, I was standing at one end of the large room while Barton stood at the other. I tugged on the vest, trying to adjust it. I didn't like it; it was too bulky and made me feel fat. "What, exactly, are we doing?" I called to him.

Barton slung his quiver of arrows over his shoulder and hefted his bow up to eye level. "I'm going to shoot you with arrows." My jaw dropped. "And you, Mo, are either going to dodge them or catch them. Get it?"

I chewed absentmindedly at my lower lip. "I get it. Just…don't kill me, okay?"

He laughed. "Oh, Mo. Do you understand trust?"

"Yes, I understand trust," I growled indignantly.

"Then trust me. You'll be fine." He docked an arrow and pulled it and the string back by his ear. "You won't suffer too many injuries."

Before I could protest to his last statement, he let the arrow fly, and fly it did. It soared toward me with beautiful grace, and it was so fast I could barely track it with my eyes.

Which is probably why it struck me in the center of the chest.

I stared at it with wide eyes. Barton chuckled a little and trotted over to me. "Don't touch it," he ordered. "I don't want you to break it."

I stuck my tongue out at him as he proceeded to wiggle the arrow back and forth, one hand braced against my shoulder, eventually wrenching it out of the body armor. I raised my eyebrows; I could have easily done that.

He held the arrow triumphantly in his hand. I shoved him away. "I want to try again. Get back over there."

As he walked away, he said over his shoulder, "Pay attention this time. I know the arrow is cool, but watching it can get you killed."

I stretched my arms behind my back, watching intently for Barton to let the next one loose. When he did, I leapt to the left. The point missed me by inches, and instead of digging into my vest, dug into the padded cushion that hung on the wall behind me.

"Very good! Here comes the next one."

This one was aimed more toward my left leg. I lifted it, leaning precariously on the right side. Another arrow was added to the wall.

I dodged several more after that one, jumping and ducking and bending and God knows what else.

"You can catch them too, you know. Try that," Barton offered.

By this time, I was laughing from sheer glee at being so good at this. So when the next arrow came, flying straight towards my face, I threw my hand out and caught it, inches in front of my nose. "I caught it!" I caroled, holding it above my head, still laughing like a maniac, not caring about what would have happened if I hadn't caught it.

"Nice work," Barton congratulated, coming over. "Hand me the arrow so I can get rid of it."

I gave him a look of confusion. "Why?"

"Because you've touched it. It won't fly as right now."

I curled my lip at him. "Hey, _you_ were the one who told me to catch it! And it's not like I bent it or anything!"

He held his hands up in defense. "I'm not blaming you for anything! It's just the oils on your hands, or something. I don't know. It won't work, that's all."

The purple and black arrow I held in my hand mesmerized me. This thing wouldn't work right if I touched it? How bizarre. That was probably why he took it upon himself to get the other arrow out of my vest. I stifled a little laugh. His high-tech, super powerful weapons could be affected by a stranger's touch? Some weapon. "Can I keep it?" I asked, gazing at it thoughtfully.

Barton's eyebrows came together in confusion. "Uh, sure. Whatever floats your boat, Mo."

I smiled and slid the arrow, point down, into the waist of my shorts. Safe keeping at its finest.

The door crashed open, and there stood Natasha, a thin strip of white tape covering her nose. At least her face wasn't bloody anymore. "Hey, Mo," she said. "Come with me. Fury's got something to show you."

Those words were enough to set me on edge. My gaze was wary; she only waved her hand at me and walked away. Barton gave me a little push from behind. Off we went.

oOoOo

"Meow for me," Fury commanded.

We, meaning Fury, Natasha, Barton, Thor, Stark, Banner, Rogers, and myself, were standing in a dimly lit room, along with assorted agents. One tiny light shined just above my head. I didn't have any idea what was going on here, or why I had to meow, of all things, but I wasn't in the mood to argue.

I let out a _mrrow_, resembling a kitten. Small bursts of applaud greeted me from the darkness.

"That sounded very…innocent. And completely accurate. Can you, possibly, be more ferocious?" Fury's tone of voice was of barely contained boredom. Perhaps that was just his way of speaking?

I growled, low and deep, and then roared like a lion. The curls that bounced around my head probably made me look like one. I finished with an angry hiss. If I'd of had a tail, I would have lashed it.

"Impressive." I could barely make out Fury's head nodding. "I believe we did a good job deciding on your name and disguise then."

Before I could ask him to clarify, all the lights in the room came on. There, suspended above a table, was an all-black outfit. A metallic mannequin showcased the long, skintight sleeves and the equally tight pants. Black combat boots sat underneath.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. "Those are my boots!"

And they were. The boots I'd received the day before for my birthday were now here, sitting basked in artificial light.

"Correct," said Fury. A door on the left side of the room slid open. "Go try your costume on." It wasn't a suggestion; it was an order.

Some person I didn't know took the clothes off the mannequin, folded them, and handed them to me with a smile. I sniffed; I didn't know anyone who worked for Fury _could_ smile. I bet she got paid for it.

I grabbed the laces of my boots, stuck my "costume" under one arm, and walked away from their stares.

I shucked my athletic shorts, carefully removing Barton's arrow first. I set it next to my boots, relishing the feel of the smoothness of it. I folded the shorts and set those down, too. My T-shirt came off next and was added to that pile.

I rested my hands on my hips and looked down at myself. Yeah, those tight clothes should fit. I looked thin enough.

So on the black pants went. It was comfortable, stretchy fabric that molded perfectly against my legs. I glanced behind me. Excellent support. I slid out one foot, lowering myself until I was doing the splits on the cool tile floor. These pants, they were amazing.

I stood back up and lifted the black shirt, revealing that there were two shirts, both of them black. I slid on the undershirt, a thin tank top, and zipped the long-sleeved tight jacket on over it halfway up.

Short black socks were stuffed inside my boots. I took them out, put them on, and then laced up my shoes. They were about mid-shin in length. I smiled at the cool leather that pressed against my legs. I didn't have normal shoes, or most importantly, my iPod, but having these made everything seem a bit better. It was like having my parents and my brother nearby, knowing that these came from them.

I looked myself over by bending my head down. There was no mirror in the tiny room. Little loops that looked like handles hung a little above my waist, one on each side. Straps were attached to the very top of my pants. I had no idea what they were for.

Shrugging my shoulders, but satisfied with the outfit, I retrieved Barton's arrow and slid in into my waistband where it was before. Then I pushed the door open and returned to the group's observing stares.

I held my arms out and looked Fury in his…er, one eye. "Well?" I asked, imitating his voice.

Fury turned away from me and glanced about the rest of them. "What do we all think?" He crossed his arms across his chest and assumed an authoritative stance. I mimicked him from behind, raising a chorus of muffled laughter. He shot me a glare over his shoulder.

"I like it," spoke Stark. I raised my eyebrows at him. "It really accentuates all her…assets." He smirked when I growled at him. To my satisfaction, Rogers elbowed him in the ribs.

"I see no problem with it," Thor said with a slight nod in my direction. The rest of them murmured their agreement.

I brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes. "Is there a mirror or something for me to look in?"

A mirror was fetched for me, and some unnamed agent held it up so I could check myself out. And check I did.

I spun in a slow circle, a frown slowly making its way across my lips. I shot a glance at Natasha, then looked back at my reflection: Dark, shoulder length curls, tight black clothes, black boots, and a so-not-amused expression. I pushed the mirror away from me, startling the young man holding it, and stalked up to Fury, fists clenched. "What am I supposed to be?" I snapped. "Black Widow's doppelgänger?"

At my words, the Avengers and everyone else took a few steps back and _really _looked me over. Everyone, that is, except for Fury. He looked at me with cool, calculating eyes. "Do you even know what this ensemble does?" I didn't answer him, just stared him down. "Hand me her gloves," he barked.

I watched yet another agent pull open a drawer in the table, remove something that was, you guessed it, _black_, and hurriedly walk through the group of people to hand it to Fury, who in turn gave it to me. I inspected the little bundle and pulled the string that held it together. They were gloves, like Fury had said. I slid them onto my hands, finding that they were also made of the same clingy, stretchy material. "So I've got gloves," I said, unimpressed. "So what?"

Fury took one of my hands and pressed it against the table next to us. "Pull it back," he ordered.

I tried, I really did. My hand was stuck. Someone cleared their throat; out of the corner of my eye I saw Banner making a sideways motion with his hand. I imitated it; my hand returned to my control.

I gazed at it thoughtfully and smiled. "It's like a tree frog," I told Fury, temper dropping with my amazement.

Fury, also to my amazement, smiled. "Exactly." Then, reaching a hand out, he grabbed one of the straps that hung from the end of my jacket. I watched him with total focus as he connected it to the little strap that was at the top of my pants. He repeated the process with the other side. Then he stepped back and crossed his arms. "You see those little loops?" he asked me. I nodded. "Grab those and extend your arms.

Just a little confused, I did as I was told, sliding my fingers through the little handles before lifting my arms until they were shoulder height. Slowly, or rather at the speed of my movement, shiny material unfolded from my sides. I struggled to suppress laughter, but found I couldn't. Huge bursts of giggles and unrestrained glee tore out of my throat. I was still holding up the loops. "They're like wings!" I exclaimed. "I'm like a flying squirrel or something! Or, like a bird!"

Everyone looked at Barton. He grinned. "Let's go with the squirrel part," he chuckled. "I've got the bird part all covered."

This made me laugh harder. I covered my face with my tree frog hands, folding the shiny black material around myself. Something pricked just above my eye, and wetness ran down the side of my face, sobering me. "What the?" I mumbled, letting go of the loops. The "wings" snapped back into place.

Upon close inspection of my gloves, I saw tiny little claws peeking out of my fingertips. "Now I'm a cat?" I whispered to nobody in particular. As an experiment, I clenched my fists and opened them back up. The claws had retracted.

Fury was watching me. "Do you still think you're a doppelgänger?" he asked.

I shook my head, still staring at my hands. Deciding that as long as I didn't try to punch anyone, the claws would stay in, I walked over the mirror that leaned against the metallic table. I stuck my hands on my hip, glaring at the image before me. "No," I answered, sounding distant. "But if I'm not a little Black Widow, then who am I?"

"From here on out, you're the new superheroine known as Animo. Satisfied?"

I looked to Fury as he spoke, nodding my head in confirmation. Then I returned my gaze to the mirror.

The person reflected back at me didn't look like me. She looked dark and mysterious, lithe and powerful, and, yes, a little sexy. She stared at me with cold, intelligent blue eyes. Her chocolate colored hair rested lightly upon her shoulders. Her mouth was set in a slight scowl, the only thing that really reminded me of me. A tiny trace of blood ran from her left eyebrow to her chin. It made her look strong. She lifted up one corner of her mouth into a lopsided smile, trying to look into the future, to see what would become of this new heroine when she went into battle. She wasn't a little girl anymore.

I, Kristy Monet, was not the same girl I'd been when I'd been taken from home. I was Animo.

Animo smiled back at me.


	4. Chapter 3: Aliens

Chapter Three: Aliens

"I think she's ready, Fury" are the words I heard as I hid just around the corner a week later. My Animo outfit was on, and I'd been practicing with the wings and gloves, even climbing up the walls of the training room. My heart swelled with gratitude toward Barton and Romanoff, whom I saw talking with Nick Fury around the conference table.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Fury's chilly voice asked, requesting clarification that I was sure my two teachers could offer.

I pressed closer to the wall, sticking my hands to it. Then I proceeded to pull myself up until my head was brushing the ceiling. My boots sought out the little cracks in the metal wall. I was now resting horizontally, parallel to the floor below me. The view was much better from up there.

Meanwhile, Natasha was speaking up. "Positive," she said firmly.

I saw Fury shrug his shoulders. "All right then. Consider Animo an official Avenger. Excellent work, agents." The he began to walk away, opposite the direction where I was lying in wait for them.

Barton caught his arm before he could leave. "Fury." His quiet voice that barely reached my ears was urgent. "What's going on? Why is she here?"

I made a soft noise of irritation. What was that supposed to mean? Did he not want me here? Before I could blow my cover and shout out an angry response, Fury replied with, "We can't discuss this now. I believe our conversation is being listened to by uninvited ears."

It took me a moment to realize that it was _me_ he was referring to. When I did, I blushed and edged my way over to the corner of the wall, where I peered out at them in embarrassment. "Sorry," I mumbled with a small half smile. I crept back down to the floor and crossed over to them.

"Never mind," Fury said quickly, tossing an anxious glance in my direction. "Congratulations, Mo, you're now an official member of the Avengers team."

Natasha grinned at me; Barton didn't take his eyes off of Fury. I tilted my head, wondering what the big deal was. "Fury," Barton said icily.

"This is a matter to be discussed at another time," Fury snapped, silencing Barton. "Mo, make sure you're in gear at all times. You never know when something will come up that requires Avenger attention." With those words, he stalked away.

Natasha gave my arm a reassuring squeeze, then left after Fury. That left Barton and I standing alone in the empty conference room.

"Well," I said awkwardly. "I guess I should go, you know, gear up, or whatever."

I turned and started to walk back the way I'd come in, opposite the way Natasha and Fury had gone. Barton cleared his throat; I stopped. "Mo," he began.

I stared at him with hardened eyes. I couldn't understand the irritation that was running with my blood. I suppose it had something to do with the fact that Barton was practically _demanding_ to know why I was here. And I thought we were getting on quite well. "What?" I growled.

He stepped closer and reached into his pocket. I opened my mouth in alarm, but all he did was press something into my hand. I looked down and wanted to cry with gratitude. My iPod sat in my palm, looking no worse for wear than it had been when I'd left it. "But, how did you…?" I trailed off and just watched him with happy eyes.

"I swiped it the night we went to your house. You seemed to like it a lot, so I didn't want to leave it behind." He gave me a small smile, and before I could thank him or say anything more, he hurried away, leaving through the same door that Natasha and Fury went through.

I stood there, frozen in shock, for a few heartbeats before deciding that I looked stupid. Ducking my head to hide behind my hair, I returned to my room, where I sat on my bed and turned my music up loud, drowning out all the worries that plagued my tired mind.

oOoOo

That was in early November. On Thanksgiving, danger decided to strike.

I sat on my bed, nodding my head to the music. I had "Welcome to the Black Parade" turned up to full volume when the sirens began wailing.

I leapt off my bed, accidentally tossing my iPod to the ground in the process. I bent over to retrieve it and switched the music off before diving under the bed to grab my boots. I slid them on, made sure that the small dagger I'd been given was safely stashed in my pocket, and then ran out of the room, joining the mass of agents that were rushing to their different posts.

Confused, I stood in the center of the fray. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Was this just a drill? If so, why had no one told me? Was this a test, to see how I dealt under pressure? I took a shaky breath.

Someone grabbed the back of my jacket and began propelling me forward. My first instinct was to struggle; I twisted in my captor's grip, only to find it was Stark who had a hold on me. He was in his Iron Man suit with the mask down so I couldn't see his face. His metal fingers released me, but his hand remained pressed firmly against my back. "Follow me," he said, his voice sounding robotic through his suit.

"Stark, what's going on?" I asked as we ran with the crowd.

"New York City is under attack by some form of extraterrestrial."

A tiny bubble of excitement rose inside of me. "Are we going down to stop them?"

Stark didn't answer.

We came to a halt in a large room that I'd only been in once or twice. It was a large, open space, with one wall made entirely of windows. Computer screens decorated every available space, ground and air, that wasn't occupied by people walking or people standing. Nick Fury stood in the very center, looking powerful and in control standing in front of a cluster of screens.

"What exactly is happening, Fury?" Stark asked as we walked up behind him.

"If you don't get down there soon, there's not going to be much left to defend. Get going, Stark," Fury commanded. Stark ran to the nearest window and, not bothering to open it, smashed through it and leapt into the open air. In a matter of seconds, Stark had his rocket things going and was speeding away from the helicarrier.

I looked to Fury. "How am I getting down there?" I asked.

Fury glared at me. "You're not."

My jaw dropped in astonishment. "But I'm part of this team, too!" I yelled. There was too much noise in the room; nobody heard me but Fury.

"This is too dangerous for you at the moment. For now, you will stay behind. You can watch what's happening from these screens."

I crossed my arms and glared at the videos playing in front of me. One showed Stark flying toward the scene. Another was of Banner, all green and Hulkish, wrapping one arm around Barton and launching them both into the air. Barton was set on top of a tall building before Hulk turned away and jumped on the nearest alien, about three towers over on the other side of the street. Yet another had Rogers climbing out of a cab in his Captain America suit. Natasha got out on the other side, and the two of them together began to fight off the aliens that threatened the city. Thor, on a different screen in a different part of NYC, was summoning lightning to his hammer to blast at a group of oncoming creatures.

Anger burned inside me. I wanted to be down there. I wanted to help. The only thing stopping me was Fury.

I looked back at the various screens. Several were playing news broadcasts on different channels. The overall message was the same: the city was in a state of panic.

The aliens that were attacking caught my eye. They weren't gross or crazily different from us, not like the ones that had attacked the previous year. These ones looked similar to us humans. The only visible differences were their eyes: they were yellow with thin, slit pupils, much like a cat's. The other change was that they were all growing extra appendages with long, silver claws. I genuinely feared for my new friends' lives. Even Stark's.

"Fury, isn't there anything I can do?" I pleaded.

"No!" he snapped, turning away to look at another screen. I could see it just fine with my peripheral vision, but I supposed with only one eye, his range was pretty limited.

Barton, or Hawkeye, rather, was flinging arrows into the throats of the human-like monsters with rapid speed and excellent precision. Not a single one missed. They aliens were much too slow; that, or Barton was incredibly fast. I decided on the latter.

On the ground, Natasha and Rogers were side-by-side and back-to-back, throwing kicks and punches (and Cap's shield) in every direction. Once or twice they hid behind the shield as an alien shot some unidentifiable substance their way. Then, half a moment later, they were back out and returning to the fight.

I watched Thor smash his hammer into one alien's stomach, sending it flying backwards into a group of more like it. The effect was like dominoes; they all tumbled to the pavement.

Hulk had two aliens by their throats and was slamming them into abandoned cars and through company windows. When they were down for the count, he grabbed two more and repeated the procedure.

Stark was twisting and turning through the air, occasionally launching rockets and missiles from his back and shoulders. In general, he was making sharp direction changes, leaving the aliens on their motorized scooter things to crash into buildings and cell phone towers.

In all, the Avengers seemed to be handling themselves pretty well without me.

"Where are they coming from?" Fury muttered to himself.

I squinted my eyes and searched the different screens. "There!" I exclaimed a moment later, pointing to a monitor on my left. Fury turned toward me and witnessed what I was referring to.

An angry slash that resembled Harry Potter's scar was rippling about twenty feet above Central Park. Hundreds of those weird, almost human aliens were pouring out of it, either on scooters or on foot. The drop to the ground didn't seem to bother them; they only stood back up and ran into the battle.

Civilians were screaming and running in every direction. There was no order to their behavior. The police were trying their best to fight the creatures, but the only thing they were really good for was evacuating their people from buildings and overturned buses.

Slowly, horror began to creep into me. We were starting, slowly, to lose. Hulk was completely surrounded by the aliens, and no matter how many he took down, more of them just kept coming. Rogers and Natasha were sweating and panting. Their blows were weakening. Stark was on the ground with them, summoning up his available energy and sending feeble blasts at the monsters. One of his legs was smoking, most likely the cause of him being restricted to the streets and not the air. Barton had run out of arrows and was now trying the beat away one of the aliens with just his bow. Thor seemed to be the only one who wasn't tiring or being overcome, but even he could not keep this up forever.

What they needed was help.

Help from someone like me.

My fists were clenched at my sides as I watched Barton struggling. _All he needs is one more arrow! Then he can at least turn this around,_ I thought. _Oh God. _I looked down at my waist. I had his arrow. The alien took one large swipe at him, creating a huge gash in Barton's side. Blood poured out of the wound. I gritted my teeth in frustration. _No! I will _not _be the death of him!_

I threw a glance at Fury, whose own hands were shaking with rage. Was I really going to stand here and let Barton die, just because Fury told me to stay here?

Of course I wasn't.

Before Fury could stop me, I dashed away from the semi-circle of screens. Shoving through the agents that were also in the room, I made my way to the window. "Mo!" Fury shouted, but I ignored him.

Gripping the handles at my waist, I lifted my arms, unfolding my wings, and jumped out of the same window that Stark had broken.

Air rushed into my ears and blew my curls back behind me. I angled my body toward the building where Barton was being attacked and let the wings do their magic, no flapping required. The wind caught on the fabric and carried me toward my destination.

_Barton, I'm on my way. Just hold on for me, please._ I was feverish with my need to get there before he…no, I wouldn't think like that.

I didn't see the alien at first, but when I finally noticed, it was already upon me. I turned my head to look over my shoulder, and there it was, speeding toward me on one of those scooters.

The aliens were apparently all male, because I hadn't seen one yet that had any feminine-looking features. This one had curls of blonde hair that fell to his chin and a lightly tanned complexion. If it weren't for his yellowed eyes and his two extra arms, he might have actually been handsome by human standards.

The silver claws that protruded at least three inches from his fingertips made a graceful arc through the air, aiming for my head. Without thinking, I tucked my arms in and crossed my wrists across my face. The wings folded around me. Since they were no longer catching the wind, I dropped several feet. At least I still had my eyes; the claws had missed by inches.

The alien wouldn't give up, however. As soon as I'd snapped my arms back out, he had zoomed in even closer than he'd been before. I clenched my hands into fists, making my own little claws appear. I swiped at him, taking the wing with me and opening a nasty gash on his upper arm. He bled some thick substance that looked orange, not red like human blood.

Red, the color of the blood that was escaping Barton.

I landed a sharp kick on the creature's jaw, trying to get away, but he'd also managed to aim a hit my way. Five shiny claws made five jagged gashes in one of my wings. Before I could even hope that it wouldn't make a difference in my flying, I was losing altitude.

Fortunately, the alien was speeding away toward the fights going on in the city, deciding that I was going to die when I hit the ground. Also fortunately, the wind was blowing hard enough in the general direction I needed to go that I was able to coast with one wing, albeit a little wobbly.

What hadn't crossed my mind was what I was going to do when the building was _right there_ in front of my face. I threw my hands out so as not to smash my nose into the steel. The suction cups on my gloves stuck beautifully, and I dangled with about a fourth of the way to go before I reached the top where Hawkeye lay, bleeding.

I mimicked the sideways motion that Banner had showed me, and one hand became unstuck. I propelled myself up a little and reattached it to the building. And that was how the next ten minutes went as I tried as hard as I could to get to Barton before he…nope, not that thought again.

Finally, my hands found a ledge. I pulled myself up, my arm muscles screaming in the effort. The first thing I saw was Barton, holding his bow up over his face. The next thing I saw was the alien that was after him. Its claws shined in the harsh sunlight as they swooped down to crash onto the bow. Hawkeye was doing his best, but it was clear it was a losing battle.

Sliding onto the top of the building, which was actually more of a large open space before the rest of the floors continued, I got to my feet. "Hey!" I shouted, hoping to distract the alien from its target.

It worked for only a few seconds. With impressive grace, the thing whirled around to inspect me with its yellow eyes. I must not have been a worthy target, however, because it turned back around to swing again at Barton. The edge of one silver talon made it past the bow and sliced into skin. Barton gave a cry of pain.

"No!" I growled, running a few steps before launching myself at the alien's back. I wrapped my arms around its shoulders, which were covered in some form of armor, the same kind that coated its entire body. A little space was reserved between the helmet this one was wearing and its shoulder pads, revealing about an inch and a half of skin showing. That's where I put my hands, trying to strangle it.

Barton was sliding backwards on the heels of his hands, getting out from underneath my battle. "Are you crazy?" he yelled at me. From the pained expression on his face, I knew speaking was hurting him.

"Shut up!" I retorted, dropping back to the cement. I ducked underneath the alien's arm as he took a swing at me. Reaching into my pocket, I drew out my dagger.

The next time it tried to hit me, I dug my knife into the underside of its wrist, meaning that I hand to duck once more under its hand. Once again, I was lucky enough to not get a hit landed on me. I pulled my knife back out. It was dripping with orange blood.

The alien began to make its way back to Barton. It really must have wanted to finish its job.

I dashed around in and stood in front of him, shielding my friend, holding my dagger at the ready. "Don't move," I ordered to Barton over my shoulder. To my satisfaction, he didn't reply, only squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

The monster was clearly getting tired of my meddling, but I wasn't done. It came at me again. I raised myself onto my toes, to give myself balance in the way only I could. It only took a moment for me to decide what to do.

Both sets of silver claws were reaching for me, but I made my move first; with a little flick of my wrist, I sent the dagger flying. It buried itself in the alien's throat. The alien gave a choking gasp and fell to its knees.

Anger was rising inside me. I stalked toward it, lethal, like a lioness. I smiled cruelly at my little analogy. I was Animo. I was like an animal.

I wrenched the knife out of its neck, emitting another staggering breath from the thing. Then I ripped the helmet off its head, revealing dark brown locks that fell into its yellowed eyes. It took my breath away for an instant. He was beautiful. Not quite as gorgeous as Thor, but still. I had already made my mind up, however.

With a cry of fury, I stuck the knife into one of its eye sockets. It screamed in rage, trying to get at the blade, but I had already pulled it out. _Just one more,_ I thought, stabbing into the other eye.

I pulled the dagger out once again. The vile creature was clawing at its eyes. It could no longer see. Taking it upon myself to end its misery, I shoved at it until it was close to the edge of the building.

He must have sensed what was going on. As I gave one final push, he swung one arm at me, slicing open my jacket sleeve and the skin on my left arm before tumbling down to the street far below.

I gritted my teeth at the burning sensation the cuts brought. _I killed it, _I told myself. Then, putting on a brave face, I turned back around and went to Barton.

His face was shiny with sweat. "It's okay," I said, kneeling beside him. "You're going to be okay."

"How bad is it?" he moaned, looking at me with pained blue eyes. They were surprisingly pretty, his eyes. I smiled at him for a moment before looking down at his side.

The material over the wound was completely shredded. The cut itself consisted of five deep scratches that were still oozing blood. I had to bite my lip and look away. _Stop it, Mo,_ I snapped at myself. _Don't do this to him._ So I turned my attention to the other cut that the alien had made. This one was on his upper left arm, opposite the more serious marks. It was bleeding as well, but not as severely.

"It's not bad," I lied, not meeting his eyes.

"Really?"

I looked at him with a small smile. I couldn't lie to him. "No. You're pretty beat up."

He closed his eyes and laid down on the cool cement. "Is everyone still fighting?"

I scooted away from him to look over the edge, even though I was pretty sure of the answer. Down below, the rest of the Avengers were still trying to push back the force of aliens. "Yes."

Barton heaved a heavy sigh. "God, I'm such an idiot."

I went back to him. "No, you aren't. Stop talking. You're making the bleeding worse."

He opened his eyes and looked at me in confusion. "I'm bleeding?"

Now it was my turn to be confused. "You mean you can't feel it?"

His eyelids were heavy. "I can't feel anything."

Gently, I took one of his hands and ran his fingertips along the wound on his side. He watched me, following my movements with his eyes. I brought his hand back up and showed him his fingers. "I am bleeding," he said quietly.

I let his hand fall onto his stomach before standing.

"Where are you going?" he asked, alarm in his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere. Stop talking." I wiped my dagger's blade against the edge of the building, removing the strange orange blood.

"Am I going to die?" He sounded like a young child, lying there in a pool of his own blood.

"You will if you don't stop talking. Your movements are making the bleeding worse."

His fingers grazed the back of my leg. "If I'm going to die, I don't want it to be in silence."

I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do. Was there a way I could stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down? I looked down at my knife, then at my clothes. I had some to spare, surely.

I unzipped my jacket and slid out of it. Cool November air hit my bare arms, but I hardly felt it. I was too focused on fixing Barton. With the knife, I cut the stretchy fabric into strips. I detached the wings and let those fall to rest beside my feet. Those wouldn't be much help.

"What are you doing?" Barton asked as I began wrapping one of the strips around the gash in his arm.

"Trying to keep you alive" was my muttered reply.

He ripped his arm away from me. "No!" he protested. "You don't need to do that. If I'm going to die, then I'm going to die, Mo!"

"I'm not going to sit here and watch you bleed out!" I snapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling his arm back to me. I tied a knot in the fabric; there was one wound left.

"Can you sit up?" I asked him, quieter and nicer than I'd been before.

Slowly, with my help, he managed to get into a sitting position. Then I went to work cutting away the small amount of covering that still hung across the larger wound. Then I took one end of a strip of fabric and stretched it until it went all the way around Barton's stomach. I repeated this several times, until I was out of fabric. There were places on that cut left to cover.

So I took the knife to my pants, cutting away at each leg until I had shorts that stopped just above my knees. With the new stock of black bandages, I finished wrapping him up. He looked like a crude Christmas present now.

Barton groaned. "I can feel it now." Agony lit up his face.

I leaned him back until he was resting on the cement again. "It's okay. That should stop you from bleeding out," I murmured softly to him.

"You're still bleeding," he mumbled.

I looked and saw my own blood making lines down my arm until it met up with Barton's blood that coated my hands. When I turned my gaze back to him, I saw he was lying motionless.

I'll admit, I panicked. "Ba – Hawkeye!" I cried. I almost called him Barton, but I caught myself. I didn't know if it would be appreciated if normal people knew who he was.

I leaned over until my ear was just above his nose and mouth. Slow breathing registered in my brain. He was alive, just unconscious.

Now what to do with him? I was the only one of us who knew where the aliens were coming from. I could find a way to stop it, or at least let someone know who could. On the other hand, I couldn't just _leave_ him here.

There were another twenty or so floors reaching to the sky on my right. Grabbing Hawkeye under his arms, I dragged him over to one of the windows.

_Crash!_

I kicked the window, send shattered glass flying inward. Walking backwards, I continued to drag him until he was safely inside. Well, lying on broken glass. That was safe enough, given the situation.

Someone sneezed.

I whipped my head around. I was standing in an office building, apparently. And all the workers were still here. _Idiots,_ I thought. Desks were overturned, and faces peered at me from behind them. _Cowards._

One of the workers, a man, stood. I snarled at him, and he got back down and put his hands up.

I stepped forward, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I lowered my voice, making it huskier than usual. With my dark curls falling around my shoulders, my angry eyes, and the blood dripping down my arm, I bet I looked terrifying. I motioned to Barton with my bleeding arm. "If any of you touch him," I growled. "I will come back, and I will kill you. Get it?"

My question was met by several frightened nods. Satisfied, I gave Barton's unresponsive body another worried glance, and then ran back outside.

The fighting was still happening down on the streets, but at least it looked like we were beginning to regain the upper hand. Hulk had managed to get free of the group of aliens surrounding him and was now clinging to a building nearby, bashing one of the dumb creatures against the steel.

"Hulk!" I shouted. With a grunt, Hulk dropped the alien, letting it tumble to the ground. Then he was in the air, leaping to land on the building where I stood. I grinned. "Can you take me down there?" I asked.

He looped one arm around me and jumped. There was a short sensation of falling, and then we were on the ground, albeit inside a little crater that we'd made when we landed.

Hulk set me down. "Thanks," I told him, and then he was off again to find more aliens to smash.

The wreckage of the Thanksgiving Day Parade was spread out from where I stood to three blocks away. I hoped everyone got out and away safely. I didn't want anyone to hurt the way Barton was.

I spotted Rogers and Natasha nearby, backs pressed together, each fighting off their own monster. I ran at them and dug my dagger into the nearest evil back, which happened to be the alien Natasha was battling.

With a swift upward movement, I created a large jagged line parallel to the alien's spine. It whirled around, screeching in fury, and that's when Natasha delivered the final blow, twisting the thing's arm to stab it with its own hand. It crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Next to me, Rogers had finished off the other one, leaving us with a momentary break from the fighting. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, coming over to stand in front of me. "Fury said you were being kept in the helicarrier."

"I wasn't a fan of his orders," I replied, looking at Natasha out of the corner of my eye. She winked.

Roger's gave moved from my face to my arm. Gingerly, he took my wrist and raised it up. "I see one of those things got to you. Where were you fighting at?"

I pointed at the building I'd just left. "Up there. And one of them attacked me in the air."

Rogers was still inspecting my arm. "You were lucky not to have been hurt worse. How's Barton faring?"

I swallowed. "He got hurt."

Two pairs of alarmed eyes looked to me. "What?" Natasha asked.

"He ran out of arrows, and one of the aliens attacked him and cut his side open. I jumped out of the helicarrier. I couldn't just leave him there to die!" The words were tumbling out of my mouth, tripping over each other and making a jumbled mess, to my mind at least. Rogers and Natasha got the gist of it.

Rogers dropped my arm. "Why are most of your clothes are missing?"

I flushed. "I needed to stop the bleeding."

"So what did you do, just leave him up there?" Natasha asked, her green eyes worried.

"Of course I didn't!" I said defensively. "I put him inside the building. Nobody's going to bother him in there."

Rogers was nodding. "So what are you doing down here now?"

I looked around, trying to find the direction to Central Park. "The portal the aliens are coming from. I know where it is. We could close it."

Something landed right behind me. I tensed, but Rogers held his hand up, a sign that meant I wasn't supposed to attack. "Would someone mind telling me how Kitten is down here?" Stark asked. His voice sounded normal; he must have put his faceguard up.

I turned to him, glaring at his pet name. "I jumped out of the helicarrier. That's how."

"As soon as I left? I didn't realize Fury had decided to let you fight. I would have taken you with me."

I snorted. "No. I jumped as soon as Barton got injured. Fury probably isn't too happy with me now, but that can't be helped."

Stark looked thoughtful. "That'd probably explain why Barton wasn't answering me."

"He's unconscious," I told him, also addressing Rogers and Natasha. "Now, if you guys don't mind, I need to be getting to Central Park. I think that's where the rest of the aliens are."

"Unless they've already retreated," Stark noted.

I ignored him and turned in what I assumed to be the right direction. "I'm going."

"Wait, Mo." I stopped at Rogers's command. "We're all going."

Satisfied, I let him take the lead, happy that I was actually doing some good.

As we walled, I took in the sights. Windows were smashed, walls were knocked down, cars were overturned, and small fires burned in a few places. The bodies of aliens littered the streets, along with a few humans. It looked similar to the results of the fight against Thor's brother, Loki, and his army.

I understood what I was a part of in that moment. This was not some fun group that sponsors events and goes bowling together. This was the fight for humanity.

We reached Central Park without being attacked. There, Thor waited with Banner, who was back to his normal self. "The portal has closed," Thor said as we neared the two of them.

"They retreated?" Stark asked, throwing an I-told-you-so smirk my way. I scowled.

"It would appear so." Thor came to stand beside Rogers.

"Why?" I questioned, looking to the sky where the portal had been before I'd left the helicarrier.

Banner followed my gaze. "I'm not sure" was his quiet reply. "But all the aliens are gone." He looked at me and smiled. "For now."

I was cool with that. "Thor?" The god turned toward me. I pointed back the way we'd come. "We need to get Barton. Can you carry him?"

He smiled and strode over to me. "Do you question my strength, you weak mortal girl?" I laughed and he wrapped an arm around my waist, lifting me off the ground. "We shall meet the rest of you at the helicarrier once we have retrieved Barton." With that, he swung Mjolnir around in his other hand. When he stopped, we were in the air.

I laughed again and watched the city spread out beneath me. "This is fun," I told him.

He chuckled a little. "Even more so now that you are not pulling on my hair and screaming."

I blushed. "Sorry. Did it hurt?"

"Not in the slightest." He smiled to himself. "In what condition will we find Barton?"

"He was unconscious when I left him. He should be waking up by now."

At this time, we were landing on the roof of the building where Barton lay. It looked relatively unchanged. Thor put me down. "And if he is not?"

I ducked through the shattered window. "Then we'll just have to wake him up ourselves."

Barton was still lying in the pile of broken glass. I felt a little bad about leaving him there, but that couldn't be helped now. The pieces of my clothing that I'd tied around him were blood soaked, but they were still in place. The office workers cowered behind their overturned tables, looking ever the more frightened now that I had Thor with me.

I got down on my knees, careful of the glass. Barton wasn't moving. I had been wrong; he hadn't woken up yet. I nudged him a little. "Hawkeye," I whispered.

"He is not dead, is he?" Thor asked.

I leaned over Barton like I had earlier. His breath hit my cheek. "No, he's alive still," I answered. But he wasn't waking up. I shook his shoulder, more vigorously this time. "Hey, wake up! They're gone!"

I sighed in relief as Barton mumbled something and moved his head a little. I picked a piece of glass out of his hair and he moved again. His eyelids fluttered, his fingers twitched. "Come on, Hawkeye. You're safe. The aliens are gone," I murmured softly to him. Thor stood behind me, watching.

Barton's blue eyes opened. I grinned, happy that he hadn't died in the span of time between me leaving him and arriving again at his side. "Mo?" he asked, looking at me with confused eyes. Then he closed them again. "Mo," he sighed. A little smile crossed his lips.

"Can you stand?" I inquired, not wanting him to drift off again. When he shook his head, I looked to Thor.

Thor got the message. He bent over and slid his strong arms underneath Barton's injured body, lifting him easily. I stood with him.

"Excuse me?" some voice asked. I looked in the direction of the workers and saw a young man standing up. The rest of them ducked behind the tables once more, escaping my gaze. "Who are you?"

I smiled, not a happy smile, but rather a smirk. The kind Stark often showed. I replied, "I'm Animo." Then we were out of the building before anyone could say anything back.

Thor adjusted Barton so that he was slung over one shoulder. I climbed back into Thor's arms and put one hand on Barton's back to steady him so Thor had his other hand free to use his hammer. We were back in the air once more, returning to the helicarrier, leaving astonished faces behind.


	5. Chapter 4: Let's Be Famous

Chapter Four: Let's Be Famous

I walked into the room with the bright artificial light, the blinding white walls, and the smell of antiseptic. My arm was still burning from the cuts; I'd been sent here, the infirmary, to get it patched up. Thor had led the way for me, after setting me on my feet and shifting Barton into a more comfortable position in his arms. Now Thor was in front of me, being directed as to where to put Barton. Barton himself had lost consciousness once more as soon as we got into the air.

"Agent Mo," a lady said, walking over to me in her white outfit. "Would you like a seat next to Agent Barton's bed? I can tend to your arm there, and you can be there when he wakes again."

I nodded, feeling dizzy. I suspected it was from blood loss and accepted her arm for support.

I sat shakily on the edge of the bed I'd been shown to. The lady, looking as if she was only in her early twenties, got to work on my arm. "What's your name?" I asked her, watching Barton, spying Thor leaving out of the corner of my eye.

"Taylor Burns, miss. I've only been here for a week or two, so forgive me for not saying hello before."

I half smiled. "I've only been here for a month. Don't feel too bad."

Her pretty pink lips parted in shock as she wiped the blood away with a wet cloth. "A month? But Agent Mo, you're already famous!" I didn't question this. At least, not then. I was too focused on waiting for Barton to open his eyes again.

I gritted my teeth as a searing pain ripped through my arm. _What is that, salt?_ I asked myself in surprise. I suspected it was probably some sterilizing fluid, like alcohol, but _God_, it hurt! "I'm just going to let that dry for a bit before I stitch you up, all right?" Taylor Burns told me before walking around to the other side of Barton's bed.

"Yeah, okay." I wasn't really listening. She was pulling away the makeshift bandages at his side, the ones covering the large wound on his right side. Then she untied the one around his left arm. He didn't move once. "He's going to be okay, right?" I asked, leaning forward.

She gave me a faint smile. "He'll be fine." She cleaned the dried blood away with a fresh towel.

I reached out and took Barton's left hand in my right. I knew what was coming next. Just like I knew she would, she poured some of that burning liquid on both of his cuts.

With a gasp and a jerk, Barton's eyes flew open. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, trying to twist his body to see what was happening.

I stood, still holding his hand, and pushed his shoulder until he was lying back down on the white sheets. "Stop moving around so much. You're already trouble enough without reopening your wounds," I ordered.

He deep blue eyes fixed on me. A flicker of recognition made itself present in them. "Mo," Barton sighed, putting his head back down on his pillow. "What's going on here?"

I grinned. "You're getting all fixed up. The fight's over."

He looked at my arm. "You're getting fixed up too, right? You can't walk around bleeding."

"Of course she's getting fixed!" Taylor cut in, moving back over to my side. She held a needle and thread in her hand. The other hand held what I presumed to be morphine.

I pushed that hand away. "No. Use it on him." I motioned my head in Barton's direction.

"Mo, you saved my life. You don't have to give me your morphine." Barton was glaring at me in defiance, no doubt thinking that he didn't need to accept extra numbing agent, especially not from a girl like me.

I glared back. "I didn't save your life!" I protested.

"Yes, you did." Taylor must have decided it was the right time to speak up. She continued. "Agent Mo, if you hadn't killed that alien and then fashioned bandages to stop the bleeding, Agent Barton would have no blood left in his system, and he certainly wouldn't be here right now." She tilted her head and smiled. "Give yourself some credit, dear."

I opened my mouth, ready to shoot something back, but she wasn't finished yet. "We have more morphine than just this. Don't worry about it."

I shut my mouth again and looked away from Barton's triumphant eyes. Instead, I watched the nurse pick up a syringe and dip it into the bottle of pain relieving solution. I swallowed hard and had to look away. I couldn't deal with needles. Not in any form.

There was a sharp prick on my arm, right next to my cuts. I started and squealed. The needle and thread was coming next, before the morphine had even had time to work its magic. I could still feel my arm.

Then my hand was hurting. Like, really hurting! I looked to Barton, alarmed, and saw him watching me. He gripped my hand in his, squeezing as hard as he could. "Clint, that hurts!" I said, shocked. He squeezed harder. "What are you doing?" I complained, trying to pull away. He wouldn't let go. All he did was stare at me with those pretty blue eyes of his.

"All done!" Taylor caroled, and I turned back to her, surprised. My arm was all stitched up, with neat little x's crisscrossing the slices. It'd be an interesting looking scar, almost like Wolverine had attacked me. Only there were five cuts instead of three.

I looked to Barton again. He was grinning, a gesture that lit up his face. He loosened his grip on my hand. I understood, then. He was distracting me from the needle. He'd read me like a book.

"Thank you," I said softly with a half-smile.

Barton laughed. "Think of it as a small payment for saving me."

I sighed. He was really not going to give this "you saved my life" thing up. But no matter. It was his turn for stitches now.

I traced little shapes onto the back of his hand while Taylor injected the numbing stuff and then got to work stitching him up. It was more time consuming than mine had been; that gaping wound in his side must have been awful to try and seal.

Taylor stepped back. "Okay, you guys are all finished." She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.

"Good. They need to come with me."

I jumped at Steve Rogers's voice. When did he get there? "Hey, Cap," Barton said, trying to sit up. I pushed him back down.

"What's up?" I asked Rogers.

"Fury's got something to show you, if you'll follow me." Rogers turned away and started walking toward the door. I stood. Barton tried.

Taylor stopped us. "No, no, no!" she fussed. "You need to rest, Agent Barton. I'm sure one of your friends can come back later to tell you what the big news is."

Barton scowled and threw a glance my way. I spoke up. "I can keep an eye on him, Taylor. If he starts getting tired or something happens to the stitches, I'll send him right back." I held up a hand and grinned. "Scout's honor."

The young nurse sighed. "Okay, okay."

Together, the two of us got Barton off the bed. Where was Thor when we needed him? I mean, Barton's not fat, but he's not the lightest person in the world.

I reclaimed Barton's hand and he leaned a little on my shoulder. Rogers was waiting for us at the door. He took hold of Barton's uninjured arm, and the three of us went on our way.

Rogers came to a halt in the control room. The window Stark and I had jumped through was still smashed open, but there were a few men taking measurements for a new pane of glass.

Nick Fury stood in the same spot as when I left, still staring at the assorted screens in front of him. Natasha, Thor, Banner, and Stark waited behind him.

Fury turned his eye to me. It was cold and dark inside there. "Agent Mo," he boomed. "How nice of you to come back." I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off. "Don't ever disobey my orders again. You could have been killed!" His face was livid.

"I would rather be slaughtered out there than stand on the sidelines and watch everyone else die!" I snapped.

"None of them died!" Fury roared right back.

Barton cut in, as furious sounding as our director. "I almost did!" he shouted. Then his voice grew quieter, but to me it sounded more dangerous than when he was loud. "What were you planning on doing, Fury? Were you going to send someone else in, or were you just going to leave me there to drown in my own blood?"

His question hung in the empty, tense air. Everyone was looking at Fury. Fury's face was blank of any expression.

The silence was boring me, so I broke it, leaving Barton's inquiry unanswered. "Is this what we had to come here for?" I asked Rogers. "So Fury could yell at me for doing the right thing?"

"No, that wasn't what," Stark replied. He stepped up next to Fury and bumped the silent man aside with his hip. Then he tapped his fingers strategically against one of the screens. A video popped up. "This is."

Someone nudged me from behind. Over my shoulder, I saw Banner pushing me forward. I smiled and nodded at him, and then stepped up onto the little platform. My hand was still linked with Barton's so, with some help from Thor, he stepped up beside me. Stark shifted himself to make room for us.

The video was something from Youtube, and it was a mash up of cell phone videos and news broadcasts. The opening scene showed a figure falling through the air, being attacked by one of the aliens. _That's me,_ I thought, and moved closer to the screen.

I was shown maneuvering through the air with a damaged wing, only to crash into Barton's building. It was a distant shot, but it was clear enough to see that it was a person and not an alien. Well, it'd be clear to the other people watching. The rest of us already knew.

It cut to a news channel. The anchorwoman was talking about the battle and warning everyone to stay indoors.

Next, I was on top of the building, jumping onto the alien's back. It was pretty close to us, too, like it was from behind the windows. One of the office workers must have taken that video. That really irritated me; they were brave enough to take the video, but they couldn't venture outside to save Barton?

Then there was me cutting apart my clothes to make bandages. The video cut down to the ground, showing Rogers and Natasha fighting the aliens. Then it was back up to me, showing me smashing through a window, obviously from a worker's perspective.

A close up on my face; someone had excellent zoom. My threat to kill anyone that touched Barton. And then I was in the air, held by Hulk, and the video switched to another broadcast. I was in this one. The banner underneath said "Who is this hero?"

The next clip told them all exactly who. It was again from a worker's perspective. It showed, from a side angle, the office man asking who I was. Another close up, this time on all of me, and I saw how terrifying I really looked, standing next to massive Thor, with Barton limp in his arms. I was dripping blood down one arm, and the only clothes I wore were my tank top, boots, and shorts. My curls were wild from the wind. I answered with "I'm Animo", and then the three of us were gone and an anchorman took our place.

"It would appear as though there's a new member of the Avengers team!" he said with a big grin. He was too happy for my taste. New York City had just been attacked, and he was making money by being happy about it. "From the videos that I've been shown, I can hardly say that she won't be a formidable character for those strange alien things to deal with, if they ever return. If I were them, I'd stay as far away as possible. This girl, Animo, is not one to mess with!"

The video ended. Stark clapped. It echoed in the silent space.

Barton spoke from beside me. "How many views?" he asked.

Stark grinned and tapped the screen again. A very large number filled the screen. "Three million and thirty-seven, and the number increases with each passing second," he said proudly, as if it was he that had starred in that video. He looped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. It was an odd display of affection that I honestly wasn't expecting. "Way to go, Mo. You've gone viral."

I couldn't say anything. The number was still covering the screen. Stark hit refresh and the number got bigger. My jaw dropped. That many views in only a few hours?

Barton squeezed my hand. I recovered from my stupor and glanced sideways at him. He was smiling as he nudged my shoulder with his. "You're famous," he said, and somehow, this meant more to me than Stark's words, and got through to me faster than the number before me. Barton made it real.

I kissed his cheek. I didn't know what had come over me. Gratitude, maybe? In any case, I think it surprised him. "I wouldn't be if you hadn't almost died," I teased, nudging him back.

"Oh, get a room, you two," Natasha said. I grinned at her over my shoulder, but she only gave me a blank stare. I turned back around, a little hurt.

Barton moved his head slightly toward me. "Don't take it to heart," he murmured so no one else could hear. "That means you're her friend."

"Funny way of showing it," I whispered back. He chuckled a little.

Stark was tapping the screen again, and the number and video vanished. He turned to Fury, crossing his arms across his chest. "So, Fury," he smirked. "I believe that an apology is in order. This girl here – " He patted me shoulder. " – has done nothing but good for everyone." He paused, thinking. "Well, maybe not your ego. It's not too often that you're wrong, now is it?"

Fury's eyes hardened as he looked at me. "My sincerest apologies, Agent. I will have to let you fight these sorts of battles more often," he hissed.

I straightened up, putting my shoulders back and my chin up, and saluted him with the hand that wasn't entwined with Barton's. In my best rendition of Nick Fury's voice, I boomed, "I am also sorry, sir. I should not have acted as impulsively as I did."

My words were met with several snickers, and I was tempted to smile, but refrained. I wanted to be serious, for once in my time of being here. So I held my hand firmly against my forehead and let my mouth stay pressed in a thin line.

Fury looked at me with caution. Then, slowly, he raised his own hand. And then the two of us were in matching positions, cool acknowledgement registering in our eyes. "Apology accepted, Agent."

Now I did smile. I let my hand fall back to my side and shot a glance at Barton from the corner of my eye. He was looking at me as well. With a big grin, he squeezed my fingers again and swung his arm back and forth, ever so slightly, taking mine with it. _I think he's enjoying himself, _I thought happily.

Another screen caught my eye. "Hey!" I gasped, dropping Barton's hand and moving over to it. A news broadcast was playing, and from the looks of it, it was live.

Also on it was my mother.

My fingers grazed the air just in front of her face. It was my mother. It was really her. And just behind her, with a supportive hand on her shoulder, was my father. Off to the side stood Adam. They were being interviewed.

"Do you find it a coincidence that your daughter went missing less than a month ago, and a new hero turns up in New York?" the reporter was asking my mother, shoving a microphone into her face. "From the pictures I've seen, the resemblance between the two of them is remarkable."

My mother was shaking her head. "Oh no," she said. "That's not my Mo. She always said how much she hated cities. And how would she be a hero, anyway? She doesn't have any superpowers." She paused. "And that girl, that Animo girl. She looks nothing like my daughter."

I felt like I'd been shot. Didn't she recognize me, her own daughter? Surely she'd know my face anywhere? I turned away from the screen, barely containing tears. My mother didn't know it was me.

My feet didn't want to move, but I somehow managed to get off the short platform. My vision was blurring. Had she forgotten my face that quickly?

Someone wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Another arm was added to my waist. I looked up. Thor's arm was across my shoulders, Stark's around my waist. Banner and Rogers were smiling from in front of me, while Barton and Natasha stood by, puzzled expressions on their faces. I had to admit, I was confused too; why were they so joyful?

Fury chuckled a little. "I'm going to assume that someone forgot to brief her on our little arrangement?"

"Arrangement?" I asked. Fury just closed his eyes and shook his head.

"You see, Mo," Stark began, pulling me closer to him, leaving Thor's arm to dangle at his side. "The night we took you, we spoke to your parents. Let them know what was going on, assured them that you'd be safe with us."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

Rogers spoke up. "Of course."

"Did you really think we'd take you without permission?" Banner grinned.

That was exactly what I'd thought. "No, I guess not," I replied slowly with a small smile. Relief was flooding through my veins.

Stark wrapped his other arm around me and gave me a hug. "That's my girl!" he sang.

I strained against his hold. Relief was quickly fading to irritation. What did he think he was doing? I didn't like him, and I was pretty sure he didn't like me, either. Why was he holding me like this? "Let go," I growled.

He released me, but not before planting a kiss on the top of my head. I scowled as I stepped away, bumping into Thor. The god ruffled my hair with one of his big hands. I narrowed my eyes at the floor. Why did they keep touching me? I blew out a puff of air and stepped backwards, giving myself my own bubble of space.

Peeking out from beneath my eyelashes, I saw Banner watching me with an amused expression. I discreetly stuck my tongue out at him, making him chuckle, before turning my gaze to Barton. His forehead was shining with sweat.

That knocked me out of my brief indignation period. I caught his eye and gave him a look, silently asking him if he was in pain.

Ever so slightly, he shook his head.

I lifted my head and looked at him suspiciously. He shrugged, but the movement made his face, if only for a second, twist in agony.

Stalking forward, I took him by the arm. I spun him around, trying not to hurt him further. Over my shoulder, I informed the rest of the group, "I'll be back. My morphine is wearing off." Then I tugged on Barton's arm. Off we went toward the infirmary.

"Nice cover," he murmured, leaning over to reach my ear. "But you didn't have to do that. They know I'm not weak."

I slid my hand down until I found his, and then laced my fingers through his. Somewhat cautiously, I rested my temple against his shoulder. "Says the man who got his side tore open and was saved by a teenager."

Barton grinned. Then he staggered.

I lifted my head and moved closer to him. "Here, pretty damsel, lean on me."

"No, no, I'm fine. Really. It's not even that far now." His voice was shaky, but he managed a laugh. "And who are you calling a damsel?"

I smirked, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "You, always being in danger."

He bumped me with his hip. "I _live_ for danger, dear."

Dear? I kept my face composed as I pondered over this word. Dear? Did he just call me dear? I shook my head. Spur of the moment word. Yes, that was definitely what it was. "Well, _dear_," I replied icily. "We're here."

Barton gave me a look of surprise, his eyebrows rising. Was it my tone that inflicted this reaction? Must have been, but I didn't care.

Taylor appeared in the doorway. "I thought I heard your voice, Agent Mo," she said warmly. "What's the problem? Has his morphine worn off?"

I nodded and shoved Barton, hard, in the back. "Now go get better," I growled darkly, not even trying to mask my irritation. Why was I irritated? Oh, who knows. New York was giving me major mood swings.

Blue eyes tried to mask the hurt and confusion that was otherwise plain as day on his face. "Sorry, I was just trying to…" His voice trailed off as Taylor took him by the arm and shoved him into the infirmary, slamming the door and leaving me just as puzzled as he was.


	6. Chapter 5: Chris Garfield

Chapter Five: Chris Garfield

Three days later, I still had no idea what those last words outside the infirmary meant. What was he trying to do? And there really wasn't any reason for him to apologize, either. It was all on me. So what was his deal?

"Mo."

I looked up to see Fury standing over me, hands clasped behind his back. His face, as usual, was blank of emotion. I was typically good at reading people by what their eyes revealed, except they usually had two eyes instead of one. Fury was somebody I just couldn't figure out. Him, and, as I recently discovered, Barton.

"Fury," I replied in a bored manner, imitating him as per our normal routine.

No further words were needed. As he walked off, I turned away from the window I'd been staring out of and followed him to the conference room.

The team was assembled around the table, either standing or lounging in a chair. Natasha was inspecting the nails on one of her hands; Stark's feet were propped up on the shiny tabletop; Rogers's back was erect in his seat; Thor and Banner were chatting as they leaned up against the wall nearest the door. I didn't bother asking where Barton was, as he lumbered into the room just behind me.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "Shouldn't you be on bed rest?"

"Got out early for good behavior." Then he ignored me and switched his attention to Fury. "What's the problem?" Everything about his words screamed _I don't really care_. What happened to him?

"We've received intelligence from an unnamed source, claiming to know of a man involved with the alien attack," Fury droned.

That was a surprise. There was a human who was actually _willing_ to work with those weird creatures? _People these days,_ I thought to myself, shaking my head.

Rogers spoke up. "What would you like us to do, sir?"

Fury, hands still behind his back, began patrolling the outer circle of the room. "The man goes by the name Chris Garfield, who supposedly has a lot of money. It would also appear as though he's hosting a party this weekend. And everyone is invited."

We all stared expectantly at him, waiting for more.

"Agent Romanoff." Natasha sat up straighter. "We need you to keep the guards busy. We don't want any trouble arising before the mission is complete. As for the rest of you, go find something nice to wear." Fury turned on his heel and began to leave the room, but he stopped. "Also, make sure you can dance by Saturday night." Then he was gone.

My eyebrows came together in confusion. "That's it? No other instructions?"

"Looks like we're on our own this time," Rogers answered.

Stark was laughing. "Well, this should be fun."

Absentmindedly rubbing one of his wrists, Banner murmured, "Does he really want me to be in where there's a crowd? I can see that not going very well."

"You'll be fine, Banner. We all trust you," Natasha reassured him. I nodded in agreement.

Barton leaned his back against the wall behind him. His tanned arms were crossed in front of him, the left one still sporting the stitches that matched my own. He still wasn't looking at me, but he at least looked like he was taking some interest in this mission. "So, what's the plan?" he asked Rogers.

"Where would Mr. Garfield keep his information?" was Rogers's authoritative reply.

"In a locked room, maybe?" I offered, thinking back to past crime shows I'd seen. The bad guys always left the room unguarded, thinking nobody would bother looking there. "That seems to be a recurring theme with these types of people."

Rogers nodded. "Right."

"Or in a computer. I could get Jarvis to hack into his systems." Only Stark would think of that.

"Do you realize how much attention you'd draw, Stark, being you?" Natasha put in, giving him her usual look of superiority. "Trying to hack into the computers would only cause more problems for us."

A grin spread across Stark's face. "That's why you'll be 'distracting' the guards, Romanoff. Leave the heavy work to us."

"Shut up, Stark," I sighed, rolling my eyes. Natasha smirked my way.

Thor was having difficulty following us. "I do not understand. Will we not stand out from this group of Midgardians? They must all have seen our faces before."

"Lucky it's a masquerade party then," Fury said through our earpieces. "Find a mask, find an outfit. Listen closely, now: Agent Mo is going to be our infiltrator."

I held my finger over the little metal piece, trying to hear him better. Me? He wanted _me_ to get the secrets from Garfield? How the hell was I going to do that?

"The rest of you are to act as normal partygoers. Ask around for information while Agent Mo is off doing her thing. Agent Romanoff, try doing the same before you damage the guards too much." That brought a smile to everyone's face. "Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Rogers answered for all of us.

"Good." The earpieces were silent.

Raised eyebrows and astounded looks were passed about our little group. No one knew what much to make of it all. We had a lead so quickly, it was hard to believe.

Stark seemed to be the happiest out of us all. He stood, placing his hands on his hips in a Captain America pose. "I am buying all of your suits and dresses." He held up a hand. "No need to thank me, patrons, I've got more money than I can handle anyway."

_Isn't that the truth,_ I thought drily.

After several minutes of discussing, we'd come up with a plan. Natasha would distract the guards for as long as we needed her to. Meanwhile, the rest of us would enter the party, dressed in fancy costumes and masks to conceal our identities. I would dance with them, and, hopefully, Garfield would take some interest and ask me to dance with him instead.

After that, it would be up to me what happened next.

I was having misconceptions about this whole idea, but what could I say? That I wouldn't do it? That they can just leave me behind? No, I had to do this.

We began filing out of the conference room. I fell to the back to stand by Barton. "Hey, you," I whispered to him. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly.

I placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for being cross with you the other day. I'm not sure what came over me." I tried not to plead with him, but he still wasn't looking at me. It was starting to scare me.

"No, I get it. Sometimes the city changes people."

I stared at him in surprise. "Did it change you?"

He gave me a long, silent look, but said nothing. He only ducked through the doorway and walked away, opposite of the direction I was going.

I couldn't help but feel a little hurt. Why was he being so distant now? I thought we had a good thing going, this friendship of ours. I didn't really know him that well, and maybe that was the problem. But in this line of work, did people really want their teammates to know every single secret they carried? I wouldn't want them to know all my secrets, not that I had any bad ones. Not yet, anyway. Who knew what things I'd develop after being around these guys?

I shook my head. My thoughts were getting jumbled again. _It's so messy in my head. How do I ever figure things out?_ Things were becoming more cluttered. I supposed that was why I was finding everything so befuddling.

I retreated back to my room, the small little enclosure that held only a bed and my bag of hastily packed clothing. Throwing myself onto my pillow, I curled up in a ball and fell asleep, my iPod playing softly in the background.

oOoOo

I slipped my feet into the three-inch heels, making me stand taller than my typical five foot six. Silky white fabric hung to my knees. It was a one shoulder piece with a sleeve to cover the cuts on my left arm. The whole thing was shorter than I felt comfortable in, but what I had to wear. I hated this idea before we'd even put it to the test.

Leaning forward, I checked my face out in the mirror. Gray-blue eyes stared back at me, ringed by smoky black eye shadow and equally dark liner that flared out at the ends. My cheeks were rosy, like I was embarrassed. My curls were far tamer than usual; I'd actually straightened my hair, making it _much_ longer. The spectacle was sealed with ruby red lips.

I looked twenty.

"Mo? How long can it possibly take you in there?" Stark banged an impatient fist against the door. It was the women's restroom at S.H.I.E.L.D., so he couldn't come in on his own. Shouting was working just fine for him.

I pushed the door open, hot shame burning on my cheeks. I ducked my face down, hiding behind my straightened tresses. I didn't want to look like this, not at all. "It'd take you a little while to make yourself look older, too, Stark," I muttered, gathering the courage to look back up. "But I guess you'd have to try making yourself look younger first."

"Very funny," he answered sarcastically. "Now, look at us."

With an exaggerated sigh, I lifted my head and placed a hand on my hip, feigning exasperation. I found a crack in the ceiling and turned my gaze to it, trying to avoid looking at the rest of them.

Nobody was saying anything. The room was dead silent.

"Well?" I snapped, running an awkward hand through my hair and throwing a glance at Natasha. She was dressed nice, wearing a floor-length black gown and minimal makeup. She didn't need to work too hard to fall into the beautiful category. Now, she was staring at me with wide eyes. "What?" I tugged self-consciously at the end of my dress. She just shook her head.

Every face, Rogers, Stark, Barton, Thor, Banner, and Natasha, held the same look of disbelief. At least, I assumed that was what it was. It was starting to freak me out.

Rogers cleared his throat. "What do we think?"

Stark gave a shallow laugh. "I think I wish I was Chris Garfield."

That remark both made me feel better and worse at the same time. I didn't look horrible, but they were all looking at me like I was one of those Playboy bunnies. Well, not Natasha. But what was her look? Jealousy? Could that have possibly been it?

"Where's my mask?" I asked, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. Rogers pointed to a table nearby, and without another word, I went to it, my heels clicking as I walked. I could feel six pairs of eyes watching my every move.

My mask was pitch black, the same color as my heels. Tiny, intricate spirals decorated the entire surface. The holes for the eyes were slightly opened slits. The outer edges extended to points by my ears. It fit snugly around my head with a thin, invisible string.

Somehow, with the mask on, I felt better about how I looked. It was harder to tell who I was with my hair straightened and my mask on, and that's exactly how it'd need to be when we went to the party.

The guys were dressed in black suits with white undershirts and white bowties. I laughed, a loud burst of glee that made my stomach hurt. "Y-you all match!" I squealed, taking it all in.

All I received were forced smiles and wary glances. "It's just from nervous tension," Banner diagnosed. "She'll be fine once we get there."

"I'm fine now!" I countered indignantly, crossing my arms with a glare. But I couldn't suppress another little giggle.

"We should get going then, shouldn't we?" Stark said to nobody in particular. He came forward and looped his arm through mine, pulling me against his side. "Gorgeous, your chariot awaits." With carefully measured footsteps on my part and easy strides on his, we were propelled forward into the elevator.

And thus, I was stuck being Stark's date.

oOoOo

Stark slid his black mask down over his eyes. His was more rounded at the ends than mine. The rest of the team followed suit with their individual black disguises, each varying in design.

Our heads were bent together in a close circle. "Does everyone remember what they're supposed to be doing?" Rogers asked us, his eyes filled with hesitantly contained nerves. His question was met with several nods all around. He gave a tense smile. "Good. Best of luck to you all."

Our little group disbanded then. Natasha gave my arm a small squeeze before she sashayed away toward the front doors where two big guys stood as bouncers. Rogers walked just behind her.

"They'll be fine," someone murmured in my ear. I turned my face slightly to see Barton hovering at my shoulder.

"I know they will," I sighed back. I was pleased that he'd spoken to me, though.

Then Barton was leaving, Banner at his side. The two were jovially talking to each other, behaving like bachelors who were there to find a girl to take home. They were together because there was no way they could waltz in there alone. They weren't as handsome as Thor, after all, who left just after them, another solo man looking for company.

My heart thudded in my chest. I was the company, yes, but that didn't bother me. All we had to do was dance. But now came the part where I had to walk into that party and attract the very man who may or may not have been collaborating with the aliens bent on killing us.

Stark offered his arm. I rested my hand lightly on it, grateful for once that he was there. As much as my hands were shaking, there was no imaginable scenario in which I could go in on my own.

"Relax. I've got you." Stark's lips tickled my ear. It sent a shiver down my spine, but I felt my muscles unclench at his words. Yes, he did have me, and somehow I knew he wouldn't let me fall.

At least until I was on my own.

Our disguises seemed to be working pretty well, as we got into the house, which was really more of a mansion, without anyone recognizing Stark, or me for that matter. Inside, the giant ballroom was filled to the brim with people of all sorts. Some were dancing, some were drinking, and some were just sitting and talking.

I could see Stark eyeing the booze. I nudged him. "Not tonight. This is serious. Now come on, let's dance."

Stark nodded silently and pulled me toward the center of the room. People gave us dirty looks as we pushed past them, but they were ignored. Without the slightest hesitation, Stark put one hand on my waist and slid the other into mine. I put my free hand on his shoulder. Our chests were pressed together as we spun in slow circles, swaying to the music.

I craned my neck, looking around the room. I couldn't see Barton or Thor or the rest of the team anywhere. "Where do you suppose they are?" I asked Stark.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter right now. They know what they should be doing. We'll just leave them to it." But his eyes were darting around as well as he spun me around. "Is there anyone here that looks like our guy?"

It was my turn to shrug. "We don't have any clue what he looks like. Fury never showed us a picture or anything."

"Yeah, but what are you expecting? I hope for your sake he's at least handsome. Like me, you know." He grinned at me, but I only rolled my eyes at him.

"You're ridiculous," I told him, but I couldn't suppress a small laugh. "I hope one of the guys comes to rescue me soon."

Stark gave me puppy dog eyes and dipped me backward. "But you're _my_ date!"

"Get over it, Stark," said Rogers, appearing at my shoulder. He held out a hand. "May I have this dance, Mo?" he asked politely with a smile. I grinned and took his hand, throwing a smirk at Stark.

We assumed the position that I'd been in earlier, twirling around to the music, which was livelier now. Unlike Stark, Rogers didn't hold me as close to him, nor did he seem as confident while he danced. In an attempt to distract him, I inquired, "Have you heard anything yet?"

Rogers replied, just as quiet as I'd been, "According to various sources, Chris Garfield just showed up in town a few months ago. Nobody is sure how he got all of his money, or if it's even his."

"Excellent work, Captain." I grinned. "And the others? Have you seen them yet?"

He only shook his head.

I nodded back and stepped a little closer to him. He leaned forward, aware that I had something important to ask. It wasn't, really, but I was curious. "What's going on with Clint?" I asked, chewing my lip.

All Rogers did was reply, "He's dealing with stuff right now. I'm going to leave it at that."

I couldn't hold back an exasperated sigh. That wasn't the answer I wanted. I _wanted_ to know if I'd had anything to do with Barton's sudden change in behavior. I felt bad about getting angry with him, but that was still no excuse for being so distant…

"And what about you, Mo? Are _you_ all right?"

His question took me off guard. I, in all honesty, didn't think any of them cared. Stark certainly didn't. But maybe the rest of them did; even quiet, surly Natasha. Without any thought as to how I could answer that, I shrugged. "I don't know anymore."

"Why's that?"

I shrugged again. "That's the thing. I don't know. I think one thing's going on, and then something else happens, or someone says something, and I just…I-I don't know…" I trailed off, puzzled by my own words.

"This world confuses you just as much as it does me."

Rogers was giving me a sad stare that made my heart hurt for him. The Man Out of Time. That's what they called him. But he still went on, coping as best as he could. This quiet man that asked for nothing but gave everything. He really made me wonder how his time twisted into something so despicable. Chivalry is dead. But Captain America lives. I pressed my lips into a thin smile. "Yeah, it does."

He nodded. "I left everything behind, you know. The army. The friends I'd made there. The girl of my dreams. I had a date with her, but the plane crashed, and…well, I never got there."

"What was her name?" I inquired.

"Peggy." He gave a shaky laugh. "So, there's my situation. What about you? What did you leave?"

I didn't answer for a minute; I was too busy gathering up the pieces of my heart that had just fallen off. _Poor Steve,_ I thought. _He makes me look selfish. _I cleared my throat, down casting my eyes. "My family and friends. My education. This guy, Brendon. I've liked him forever. I don't think he ever saw it, though. And I – " I choked a little on my next words. "I left my whole life, Steve. Nobody knows me here. I'm living under my hero name. But I'm not Animo." I shook my head furiously. "I'm just Mo. I'm not special."

"You left all of that willingly. I didn't have a choice, going, but you did. What made you do it?"

I laughed, the noise sounding shrill and foreign. "I was half-asleep. That's why."

To my surprise, Rogers pulled me against him in a hug. My guess was that it was a pretty uncommon gesture for him. Public displays of affection didn't seem to be his thing. "I'm sorry we pulled you into this. You don't deserve any of what's coming, but don't degrade yourself. You _are_ special, and you've made this team stronger for it."

The black rings of makeup around my eyes were threatening to become smudged; I blinked back tears. "Thank you," I mumbled.

"Has my time for a dance come yet?"

Thor's voice broke apart our embrace. Steve stepped back, flushing a little. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, sure. Thanks for the talk, Mo." And then he turned on his heel and strode away.

Thor raised his eyebrows. "Did I say something I should not have?"

I watched Rogers's retreating back and shook my head. "No, I don't think so. I think he's embarrassed. Maybe." I turned back to him with a smile. "So I get to dance with you now?"

"Yes," he replied, taking me in his arms. He was easily the tallest of our little group of heroes, but the heels I was wearing allowed him to not have to stoop. "Has there been any sign of our Garfield man?"

I blushed. "I haven't really been looking. Have you heard anything?"

"Not a large amount. I have been told that he is here, but no one has seen him recently. It is safe to assume he is hiding."

My eyes scanned the crowd for anyone who might look rich, or like their name was Chris Garfield. Nope, nobody.

"And what of the doctor and the damsel?" Thor continued.

My face lit up. "You call Clint a damsel?"

"Indeed I do. He is very skilled at getting into trouble. Why do you ask?"

"That's what _I _call him!"

We threw our heads back and laughed as we twirled. My dress swished about my legs. My stomach was starting to hurt from our folly, so I swallowed a few mouthfuls of air. "No, no, I haven't seen them yet."

Banner appeared at my shoulder. "Hello."

"Speak of the devil," I said, impressed. "How's it going?"

"Fine. Sorry, Thor, but can you come with me, Mo?" Banner gave us smile.

Thor stepped away from me and gave a shallow bow. Mischief glinted in his eyes as a grin crossed his lips. "I shall see the two of you later."

Banner took me by the arm and we walked away. "That was weird," I noted.

He only shrugged. "Oh, not really. How's your night been?"

My eyebrows came together. "Er, it's been fine. Dancing was fun. Are you here to dance with me, too?"

"No, I'm just the delivery boy."

My mouth fell open in confusion. Delivery boy? Who was I being taken to? My hands flew to my hair, smoothing out any flyaway pieces. Was it Chris Garfield? But, if that was the case, it shouldn't be Banner taking me. That would look too suspicious, and Garfield might catch on to our identities. No, we were only supposed to dance, not look like we really knew each other.

Then I was facing someone's back. "Here, I brought her," Banner said. "I don't see why you couldn't just get her yourself." With his job done, Banner patted me on the shoulder and left.

"May I have this dance?" Barton asked, turning around and taking me by the hand. He bent over and kissed my knuckles.

I laughed. "Of course you can. What's with all this?"

His other hand found my waist and pulled me close. "Stepping up the show, dear Mo."

There was that word again. Dear. I chose not to think that over and instead focused on what he was saying. "What do you mean?" I questioned.

"Garfield hasn't made an appearance yet. I was just thinking, and Banner and Thor helped me with it, but you need to look more desirable. Well, more than you already do." He winked. "Just dancing with us won't cut it. You could be any girl dancing with any guy. But instead, you're Mo, dancing with me."

I tilted my head with a smile. "And what difference should that make?"

"We're not just dancing. We're going to move around, together, and socialize. Get you noticed. You can't stay on the dance floor and expect him to see you." Barton twirled me around. "So let's go."

Our fingers entwined, he lead me to a group of men standing off to the side. He waved with a smile. "Hello, nice evening, isn't it?"

The men, who were probably in their twenties, raked their eyes over every inch of me. Hunger was settling in their irises, and I was pretty sure it wasn't for food. Barton must have sensed it, too, because he moved a little to the side, partially covering me with his own body. "Beautiful night, in fact," he continued.

"Who's your friend?" one of the guys spoke up. His dark hair fell into his equally dark eyes.

"This is Jenna," Barton replied coolly. "My girlfriend."

Too far. I slid out from behind him, lifting our interlocked hands and resting them against my cheek. "But we aren't exclusive," I purred in my best seductive voice. It wasn't one I got to use too often.

The same man sauntered forward and lifted my chin with a finger. "Is that so?" His breath smelled like alcohol. He grinned. "Well, Jenna, you're the most gorgeous girl I've seen here all night. Prettier than night itself."

I suppressed a gag. Cheesy much? "Am I really?"

Barton turned my face toward his so the man had to drop his hand. "You should know, kitten, I tell you every day."

I looked at the rest of the group. "Jeremy, please, you're smothering me." Now addressing the others, I asked, "So, you boys must know our host, yes?"

"Who wants to know?" Dark-Haired Guy shot back, looking slightly miffed that Barton knocked him aside so easily. He crossed his arms and regarded the two of us with a glare.

I feigned hurt. "Why, me, of course. I've been looking for him all night."

He took me by the hand and spun me around. I dropped Barton's hand as the guy dipped me backward. I was bent so far back that my hair just barely brushed the floor. His dark eyes held me while his lips twisted into a wolfish grin. "Well, Princess, you found me." Slowly, we straightened back up. "And now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?"

I smirked. "Well, Mr. Garfield, I guess it's up to you."


	7. Chapter 6: Behind Locked Doors

Chapter Six: Behind Locked Doors

Chris Garfield stepped back and kissed my hand. "If your Jeremy doesn't mind, my dear, would you like a tour of my home?"

I didn't need to look at Barton's face to know that he'd tell me to go. "I think that'd be just fine, Mr. Garfield," I replied smoothly.

With an arm looped easily around my waist, we walked away from the rest of the group toward one of the large staircases. "Please, Princess, just call me Chris. It's so much more…familiar." He winked, a gesture that seemed a lot more provocative than Barton's had been. What did I get myself into?

The first floor of that mansion had a pretty simple layout. It was gigantic, with no large pieces of furniture to clutter the area. That or all of it had been put into storage for the event. There were two grand staircases, one on each side of the room. At the top, they merged together to make a large platform that branched off into a hallway with several rooms. Every single door was hung open.

"Any particular reason you're willing to show your guests all of your things?" I asked out of genuine curiosity.

"I prefer the doors that way. We wouldn't want any guests sneaking away for some fun time. Those places aren't nearly as comfortable as the bedrooms, anyway. Remind me to show you them later." The hand on my waist was beginning to make me uncomfortable, but I pressed onward, ignoring the feeling in my gut that told me something was going to turn wrong. Very wrong.

I made myself keep talking. "Will do."

"The second floor is off limits, so it's just the two of us up here. Are you enjoying yourself, Jenna?"

I ignored him when I spotted a closed door at the very end of the red carpeted hall. _Could that be where his information is?_ I thought, tilting my head. I gave a shaky, but hopefully convincing, laugh. "Maybe it _isn't_ just the two of us after all." I motioned in that direction.

He laughed back. "No, no, that door stays closed."

_Aha!_ I tugged a little on his arm. "Will you show me what's in there?" I kept my voice light and cheery, without any hint that underneath was hiding a very desperate girl.

Chris looked a little wary of me. "No… I don't know."

"Aw, please?" I giggled a little and hid my mouth behind my hand. That was girlish, right?

He wrapped his arms around me until my fists were clenched against his chest. "What will you give me if I _do_ let you in?" He leaned in until his forehead was resting on mine. "Hm?"

I lifted my chin until our noses touched. "What do you want?"

His breath still reeked of booze and desperation. It was warm against my face. Dark, animal eyes watched me. "Kiss me," he growled, more seductive than dangerous, though I had a feeling it could work both ways.

I pushed against him, moving myself backward. "Only if you show me the room first." I grinned, because I knew there was no way he could say no.

Right on cue, he slipped around me and stuck a key in the lock. Opened the door. Walked inside. Held it open for me.

When I walked in, all of the lights were off, and for a minute I was afraid I'd made a mistake. Maybe it wasn't the room I should be in. But once it became illuminated, I saw there was no way I could be wrong, for on a hundred screens around the walls, the aliens' yellow eyes watched me.

I feigned surprise; I'd expected no less. "Those are those alien things that attacked on Thanksgiving!"

"Indeed, they are. Are you afraid of me yet?" His voice came from the corner as he shut the door behind him, sealing out any possible spies. He was too late; the spy was already in.

I shook my head. "No, you don't scare me. Are you studying them or something?"

"Close. I'm actually working with them. I brought them here. I'm on a hunt, you see."

Chris's shiny black shoes made clicking noises as he walked across the tile. His fingertips brushed against one of the screens, pulling up several other pictures of the aliens. Mixed in with the bunch of headshots were pictures of the Avengers fighting against them. I was in there, too, but he couldn't know that. I looked way different in those photos.

I moved to his shoulder. "A hunt for what?"

He ignored me, instead focusing intently on a picture of me, standing with my fists clenched on the roof of that office building. I was in my post-bandage outfit, showing a lot of skin. Was that what caught his eye?

"Does this girl look familiar?" he asked me quietly.

"Yeah, she's Animo, right? That new hero that joined the Avengers?"

"That's right. Have you seen her anywhere else?"

I was confused, and I didn't bother hiding it. "No, I don't think so. Should I have?"

Chris's teeth clenched together, and for barely a second, anger and frustration flashed behind his eyes. "That girl that went missing from Iowa. Doesn't she look similar to this girl?"

"What girl from Iowa?" It felt weird, denying my own identity. Like I was trying to pretend I wasn't alive, wasn't real. Just a story, a figment of this man's imagination, twisted as it was. "Has it been on the news?"

He gave a grunt of irritation. "Several times over." And then his fingers were tapping away again, bringing a picture of me and Jenna to the foreground. "That one there." He pointed to me. "Doesn't she look a lot like Animo?"

That was an Iowa picture. He had a picture of me from home. I could understand the ones from New York; who hadn't seen me then? But the other one… How many more did he have? Why were they there in the first place? Terror and a dawning of realization began to set in.

"Why are you so interested in this girl?" I barely whispered the words.

He fixed me with dark, dangerous eyes. "This girl, her name is Kristy Monet. The aliens are looking for her, and so am I. This is our mission, Jenna. I have to find this girl and deliver her to them."

I backed away from the screen, shaking my head furiously. "So, you're just going to kidnap this…this innocent girl and take her to those monsters? _Why_?"

"She's the whole reason they came here. Once they have her, they'll leave. It's as simple as that." He was talking like there was nothing wrong with what he was doing. Like it was absolutely acceptable to hand over a sixteen year old girl.

My hand gripped the doorknob. "I'm leaving," I told him, opening the door and walking out.

Chris lunged out after me and gripped my wrist. "Hold on, Princess. At least let me escort you back to the party." He took my arm in his once more and led me back to the landing at the top of both staircases.

There we were, standing in the very center of the landing, looking out over the railing. The party was still raging below us, and there were a lot more drunk people than when I'd left. I could pick out a few of my friends: Thor was talking up a group of girls; Stark was doing the same on the other side of the room. Barton was lounging at the bottom of the stairs, a glass in hand.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. But you wanted to see." Chris Garfield's voice was quiet and tentative.

"Why me? Why did you pick me?" I inquired just as quietly before noticing what I'd just asked. I was talking like I was myself, not my disguise. "Why'd you choose to show that to me, I mean," I added hastily.

He traced little circles on the bare skin of my wrist. "You seem familiar to me, Princess. I'm not sure why, but I feel like I know you."

"We've never met before."

"No, but if I could just…" His hands found the edges of my mask and began to raise it off my face.

I panicked; I'll admit it. My hands flew to his as I moved my head forward, kissing him. Slowly, I lowered his hands from my face, feeling safer than I'd been before. The mask was still on; he wouldn't identify me just yet.

But there I was, kissing the man who was trying to deliver me to the aliens. _Well, he _did_ ask for a kiss,_ I thought, like that justified anything. Desperate times called for desperate measures, however. And that made it perfectly okay for me to twist both of his arms, knee him in the stomach, turn on my heel, and flee.

I surprised myself quite a bit when I reached the bottom of the stairs without tripping once. Barton gave me a mixed look, but I didn't bother stopping; I knew he'd follow me. So I ran right past him, shoving through the crowd. Thank God no one could see who I really was. It was not good publicity for a new heroine. But the people melted aside easily, throwing wary glances at each other.

Stark, Thor, Rogers, and Banner met me at the door. I breezed right by them and found Natasha leaning against our car. "What's going on?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

I flung open the door. "Just get in!" She obeyed.

Stark climbed into the driver's seat; Rogers sat next to him on the passenger side. Thor slid into the way back with Natasha and I, while Barton and Banner sat just in front of us.

As we drove away, Stark glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "What the hell happened?" he exclaimed. "I was having a wonderful conversation with some pretty women."

I crossed my arms and leaned back into the seat, glaring angrily out the window. The initial shock hadn't quite worn off, but fury was replacing it quickly, boiling under my skin. _Fury,_ I thought with a dry smile. _Fury. He lied to me. They all did._

"I can't believe you called me Jeremy," Barton said, turning in his seat to look at me. It was a futile attempt to diffuse the tension I was radiating.

"Shut up," I growled. "I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Look, I'm sorry if I offended you by calling you my – "

"I said _shut up_!" I snarled. He quietly turned back around.

Stark was muttering up front. "Someone get her some tampons." Rogers elbowed him, making the car swerve into the other lane. Bright lights shined through the windshield, and our oh-so-capable driver jerked the car back into the right spot. The other vehicle was very generous at laying on the horn. "I don't give a damn what you think!" Stark shouted back at them.

No one spoke to me after my outburst at Barton, and that suited me just fine. Stark was easily speeding, but no police officers stopped us, meaning we got to one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. bases quickly.

A small plane waited to take us up to the helicarrier. I clamored in at the back of the pack, choosing to sit right next to the door. I was the first one off when we landed.

Strolling down the hallways with long strides, understanding was beginning to set it. Rogers had told me I was special. He didn't say just how special I really was. _"You don't deserve any of what's coming." _That's what he'd said. And what were coming were the aliens. And if any of my guesses were correct, I was probably going to die. I just knew it.

"What happened?" Fury boomed.

I looked up. Consumed by my own thoughts, I hadn't noticed we'd reached the conference room. When I did, I lifted my head and fixed the director with an icy stare. It wasn't anger, no; it was disgust. "Did you plan for it to happen like that?" I asked, genuinely curious. My tone of voice was plain, no emotion.

Fury was silent, watching me in contemplation. "Plan for what to happen?" he finally replied. His voice sounded like it was hiding something.

I was tired of the games. "Stop lying!" I screamed. "Tell me why it's me!"


	8. Chapter 7: Midnight Flights

Chapter Seven: Midnight Flights

Fury wasn't fazed. "So you know."

Several faces paled, namely Stark, Rogers, Banner, and Thor. Natasha and Barton displayed only confusion, and I felt bad for snapping at the two of them earlier. Glances were exchanged. My temper rose. "You're _damn right_ I know!" I hissed. "Who else knows?"

Rogers stepped forward a little, looking guilty. "I do."

_Well, I already figured that out,_ I thought snippily. I didn't say it out loud, because it would only make him feel worse.

"As do I." Thor hung his head.

"And me." That was Banner.

"So what if we know? Does it really matter?" Stark crossed his arms and looked pointedly at me.

I couldn't think of a proper response, so Natasha answered for me. "Of course it matters that _you_ know!" she shouted.

"What about _us_?" Barton motioned to the ones who weren't previously informed. That, apparently, was only the three of us. "Don't we get to be in on this? _What's going on_?"

Fury was glaring at each of us, even his little allies. He stalked to a computer screen and tapped a few keys. I was about sick of computers. Nothing good was coming from them as of late. That was confirmed when a picture of me laughing with my brother popped up for everyone to see. "We received this photo approximately three months ago from an unknown source. An explanation was provided with it." Another tap. Big, blocky letters appeared on top. "'They're coming for her,'" Fury read to us, like we couldn't see.

Barton grasped my hand; Natasha wrapped an arm around my shoulders. The gesture was sweet, in way. Almost as if they were trying to comfort me. In reality, it was the two of them who should have needed comfort, because hatred had pushed aside my terror. For now.

"Why do they want me?" I asked, trying and failing to calm myself down. "I don't understand why I'm so important!"

Fury shook his head. "We haven't figured that much out yet. All we know is that they will stop at nothing to get you."

"Chris Garfield said that once they have me they'll leave. Why didn't you just let them take me? It could have saved lives. You wouldn't have had to go to so much trouble training me. I could be gone now. Why am I here?"

He seemed agitated. "Do you know how bad it'd look if we let a young girl get kidnapped by aliens? S.H.I.E.L.D. would be ruined. And we could tell you had potential, anyway. Because of that, you didn't have to stay locked away from the moment you got here." He shrugged. "That's got to count for something."

My head was throbbing erratically. "So I'm really not important in any way? You're just keeping me around because you have to?"

"Precisely." Fury's voice was cold, and it sparked another wave of anger inside me.

"Then why don't you just send me home? Let the aliens take me!" I got quieter. "I don't want to be here. What's the point of it?" It was barely a whisper.

Stark gave an exasperated sigh. "Really, Mo, how stupid can you get? I mean, honestly, do you really think we'd let that happen? You're going to stay here, and you're not going to say another word about it!"

Fury nodded. "It's not up for negotiation."

I pulled away from Barton and Natasha, shoving them aside. "Whatever, then! I'll just go back to my cell!" I turned away and began to storm out of the room, glaring wildly at anyone who stood in front of me.

"Okay, who told her?"

I stopped in shock. Slowly, I pivoted back around. "Ex_cuse_ me?" I was addressing Fury, who'd been the one that had spoken. "What exactly are you getting at here?"

Everyone looked uneasy except for the one-eyed director. "Your room is really a prison cell. It was the safest place to keep you."

My jaw dropped, but I quickly snapped it shut again and continued my walk away. My fists were clenched at my sides, but really, there wasn't anything that I could do.

The door to my "prison cell" groaned when I got frustrated with the doorknob and kicked it open. I slammed it shut after stepping inside. My foot earned the pleasure of being babied as I hobbled over to my stupid little bed in the corner of that stupid little room.

The first sob got choked down as I sat heavily on the thin mattress. I slipped off my boots and collapsed, drawing the cottony blanket up to my chin. Then I rolled over and faced the wall.

I couldn't even listen to my music, I was so sick with emotion. Anger, terror, disappointment, and a lingering trace of confusion rubbed against my brain, making my headache even worse. There was no relief to the pain I was feeling. I didn't even understand the sensation myself. How could I expect to get out of it?

Another sob was swallowed. I wouldn't let this stop me. I'd try to find a way to fix everything, even if that meant defying orders and finding a way to give myself over. But only if that was the only option.

Fatigue washed over my consciousness. As I slipped away, a single tear slid down my cheek.

oOoOo

I was woken by someone shaking my shoulder. "Get up," the unknown person hissed in my ear. I swatted at them, not ready to follow any orders just yet, but he or she grabbed my wrist. "Seriously. Now. Grab your stuff."

That caught my attention. Was I being taken home? And who in the world was talking to me? "What the hell?" was all I could think to ask.

The light flicked on in the room, and I saw Natasha leaning over me. Barton leaned against the doorframe. "Up and at 'em, Mo," he said, giving me a sad, if not concerned, smile.

I sat up on one elbow and rubbed my eye with my other fist. "What's going on? What time is it?" There was no bustle of busy agents coming from the hallway, and I was overly exhausted, like I hadn't slept at all. What I desperately wanted was for the two of them to go away and let me drift off again.

"A little after two in the morning. Get out of bed." Natasha straightened up and tapped her foot impatiently against the floor.

Because it was Natasha and I didn't want to get round-housed to the head, I obeyed. The single blanket I had slid down my legs while I stretched luxuriously. My hair was matted on one side from the pillow, so I ran my fingers through it quickly, trying to fix it. "Why am I up this early?" I allowed myself to ask the question that was pressing on my consciousness. "Am I going home?" My words were filled with hope.

"No." That emotion was squashed by Barton. He crossed the short distance to my duffel bag, zipped it, and pulled the strap over his shoulder, hefting it up to his waist. "You're being relocated. Fury decided that now would be the best time to do it."

I got off the bed and put my boots on. "Relocated? To where?"

Both of them shrugged before leading me out of the room, closing and locking the door behind us.

We entered the control room, where the rest of the team, plus Fury, were standing around. Stark looked pissed as he argued with the director, but Thor welcomed me warmly. "Hello, Mo. Did you have a satisfactory sleep?"

I smiled at him. "No, not really. Do you know what's happening?"

"You are being moved. Did Barton and Natasha not tell you?"

"No, they did. I just didn't understand."

"Mo." Fury noticed me then. "Hope you're ready to go. You'll be staying with Stark for the remainder of the time you're with us."

Stark was glaring at me with an impressive intensity. I felt the same as he did. "What?" I demanded, outraged. "Why him?"

Natasha spoke up. "Sir, wouldn't it be easier to have Mo stay with me?"

"Hush." Natasha shut up. "It isn't necessary for Mo to stay here, and Stark needs a babysitter anyway."

That made me feel a little better. Yeah, it was probable that I was being punished, but apparently Stark was, too. And what worse punishment to inflict on the billionaire than a houseguest like me? Although, I wasn't too pleased, either.

Stark crossed his arms. "I don't accept this."

I waved my hand at him. "Oh, shut up, sweetheart. It won't be so bad." Lies, lies, lies! It would be _horrible_!

With an agitated sigh, Stark crossed to me and linked his arm through mine, much to my dismay. He gave me a wolfish grin. "Well, as long as you keep calling me that, maybe it won't." He tugged me toward the door. "Come on. Time's a wastin'!"

I groaned and tossed a glance over my shoulder. Barton smiled reassuringly and trailed just behind me and my new roomie. He was still carrying my bag. Such a good man.

"Why are we leaving this early?" I inquired, because I couldn't think of anything else to ease the awkward silence.

Stark looked at me out of the corner of his eye as he propelled me forward. I wanted to spit on him when he gave me a concerned stare. "We're hoping that Garfield is asleep right now. There's less chance of them coming after you if we move you at – " He checked his watch. " – two twenty-six in the morning."

"But he doesn't know it's me, does he?"

"The way you ran out of there, he might be suspecting something by now. In any case, it's better to be safe than sorry." His grip tightened on my arm. "Now stop the questions and hurry up."

I couldn't argue with that logic. So instead of resisting the pull on my arm, I ran with him, easily keeping pace with his longer strides. Years of soccer were my greatest ally in that moment, but they wouldn't help with the bigger picture; not unless I wanted to run away from all my troubles.

And how far could I really go? There were aliens involved in this, ones whose only purpose was to capture me and do…something. I didn't want to ponder too long over what that something might be. If it wasn't death, as I was sure it would be, then it would be a something to make me wish I was dead. Ideas of torture, the kinds you see in the best horror films, came to mind: slow, painful processes to secrete information from my lips. The worst part was that I didn't know what they wanted.

"Mo, are you all right?"

Someone was shaking me. I blinked back a headache and shook my head with a forced laugh. "No."

Consumed by my dazed thoughts, I didn't notice that we were outside on the flight deck, the wind whipping our clothes around, blowing my curls into my face. Now I could see Stark waiting not so patiently by one of the smaller, sleeker jets. Barton was the one with the rough hold on my arms.

He wrapped me in a bear hug. "Don't worry. It'll all be okay. We'll stop them before any harm comes to you. I promise." He let me go, chewing on his lip from the awkward seriousness of his words. He cracked a smile. "And if you have any problems with Stark, just let me know. I've got plenty of arrows to spare."

I paled at the mention of arrows. The memory of bloody cement burned in my mind. _Barton's fine. He's standing right in front of you, good as new. Stop your freaking out._

For once in my life, I was grateful when Stark looped an arm around my waist. "We'll see you guys later," he said gruffly to Barton, shouting to be heard over the gales. He took my bag with a curt nod. Then he turned away, pushing me in front of him, blocking me from the wind with his body, while my feet dragged numbly against the cement.

The door to the jet opened outwards, and in my blind stupor, I was nearly hit. Stark moved me back in time, only to shove me inside a second later. Now that I was safely inside the confines of its walls, Stark moved away to go speak with the pilot.

I collapsed into one of the seats as my knees were shaking too badly for me to stand. I leaned my forehead against the heel of one hand and closed my eyes. I couldn't get Barton's harmless mention of arrows out of my mind. Images of an empty quiver and a bleeding rooftop seared into my eyelids. A quiet whimper escaped, but I don't think anyone heard. If they did, they didn't do anything about it. There wasn't much for them to do anyway.

Tiny bouts of excitement flickered in my stomach. I was finally getting to see Stark Tower! I allowed myself to feel some joy at that, even if the experience would only be a train wreck.

"Feeling all right?" Stark asked, interrupting my montage of bloody wounds and high-class housing.

"Why do you care?" I mumbled.

He sighed. "Just making conversation. You don't need to be so depressing."

I turned away from him and faced the door, wrapping my arms around myself. "Shut up, Stark," I muttered halfheartedly. He was silent.

Whether it was from the jet or from my own troubled thoughts, I was beginning to feel nauseous. My stomach was rolling, my breathing was shallow, and I knew I had to get out of this confined space. I was getting claustrophobic, or having a panic attack, or something. I didn't know why, but it didn't matter; it was a gut feeling. And my gut was hurting.

My voice was breathy. "Just get me out of here."

oOoOo

"Don't you _dare_ throw up on my carpet!" Stark warned as he helped me out of the elevator. We were on the top of floor of Stark Tower now, and the view was fantastic.

One wall was entirely made of windows, revealing a beautiful look at New York City. There was a bar on my right, rooms off to my left, and a comfortable looking living area in front of me. There was a metallic table with lots of button-type things on top. It vaguely resembled the controls from S.H.I.E.L.D. Well, of course it did; Stark was one of the top dudes there.

"Relax. I don't even feel that bad anymore." I wasn't lying; now that I was out of the jet, I was a lot less dizzy and a lot hungrier. Being awake must have tricked my stomach into thinking it was time for breakfast. "Where am I staying? The couch?" I asked, avoiding the subject of food.

Stark made a noise of disgust. "Oh, please. I'm not that cruel. No, I've got guest rooms. You can have one of those." He pointed one finger in the general direction, and off I went, dragging my bag behind me.

I turned the brass doorknob and opened the door. It gave a slight creak as it swung inward. My empty hand fumbled for the light switch before flipping it to the "on" position. The space flooded with artificial light.

It was a nice room. A queen-size bed with white sheets and a burgundy comforter, a dark wood dresser, and two matching end tables were all it contained, along with two windows that let in darkness from outside. They were covered with black curtains.

I stepped inside, tossing my bag onto the bed. I pulled off my boots and sighed with pleasure as my toes sunk into the thick white carpet. I hadn't felt carpet since I was at home in Iowa. It was a relief to be away from the metal and tile. Ick.

Quietly, I shut the door behind me without a backward glance. Whether or not Stark was watching me was debatable, but I didn't care. As a tidal wave of exhaustion hit me, all I wanted to do was sleep.

I slipped under the blankets and rested my head against the mega-plushy pillows. My eyes closed, but immediately snapped back open.

I half-climbed half-fell out of the bed and stumbled around the frame. I, of course, couldn't make things easier on myself by just crawling across the top of the mattress. I made my way to my waiting bag and dug through it for my iPod. Not there.

Before I could cry or throw myself out of the window, I remembered that I'd slipped it in my pocket. Satisfied, I went back to bed.

oOoOo

I awoke to silence. Dead silence. Light was trying to shine through the closed curtains. It was morning at Stark Tower.

I sat up and glanced around the room. I couldn't see my iPod. Did I just imagine ever having it last night? It didn't seem plausible, but what other explanation was there?

The other explanation picked that moment to walk through the door, bringing artificial brightness with him. "Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?" Stark asked, flicking the light switch. I shielded my eyes and hissed. "Ah. That's not a happy sound."

"What are you doing in here?" I growled, sinking back into the pillows.

Stark cleared his throat. "Uh, last I checked, this is my tower, not yours. So I will go where I please and you will not question my authority."

I flipped the covers off my legs. "I'll question whatever I want to." I got to my feet, loving the carpet that squished between my toes. "I repeat: what are you doing in here?"

"I repeat: it's my house." He shrugged. "I thought I'd come in and make sure you hadn't hung yourself overnight."

My eyebrows came together. A spark of irritation seared behind my lids, counteracting the confusion. "You don't really think I can do that."

"I think you can do whatever you feel needs to be done." Stark's face was serious. Dead serious. More serious than I'd ever seen him before. Frankly, it sort of terrified me.

I moved around the bed, walked past him, and out the door. "Okay, no need to sound so doom and gloom. I'm not gonna kill myself, I promise. What's for breakfast?"

"Yeah, that's another reason I came in. It's almost one in the afternoon."

I whirled around, eyes wide. "Are you serious? I slept that long?"

Stark nodded and slipped around me. I watched him stride to the bar and pull out a bottle of clear liquid from underneath. I had a feeling that it wasn't water. Whatever it was, he undid the lid and took a big swig. There was only one thing he could drink with that much enthusiasm.

I stalked over and wrenched the bottle from his hand. "Alcohol? This early?"

He glared and grabbed it back. "This is actually very late for me. I didn't want to start until after you woke up."

I took it from him once more. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Stark made a grab for it, but I stepped back, out of his reach. "Hey! There's nothing wrong with me! What's wrong with _you_?" The stench that wafted off of him was sour, much stronger than the liquid in my hand.

"If that's so true, then why do you smell like a walking brewery?" I snapped.

"Because I started before you woke up!"

"So now you're lying?"

He grinned and made a lazy attempt at getting the bottle back. "You're not a morning person, are you, Mo?"

Disgusted, I threw the bottle at him. He stumbled trying to get it, barely catching it by the neck. I curled my lip in distaste. "You're so gross, Stark. You should go see AA."

He paled like I'd just told him that Stark Industries had lost all its money. His eyes hardened, and he seemed to sober up. "My habits are none of your business, missy. It's all under control. Now, I'm trying to be in a good mood, like last night, but you're making it very difficult."

"What do you want me to do about it? It's not like I exactly know what I'm supposed to be doing right now," I pointed out.

Stark lifted his lip back into a snarl. "Anything! Anything, anywhere! As long as it's not here!" I opened my mouth to say something, but he quickly held up a hand. "No. Just go."

I stalked away toward the elevator, fists clenched. He was muttering under his breath. "God, he's so freaking bipolar," I mumbled to myself. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I stepped inside.

"Are you going anywhere in particular, Miss Monet?"

I jerked, startled. "What?"

"Do I need to call a cab for you, or is someone picking you up?"

I looked around. There wasn't anyone else in here, I was sure of it. "Who are you?" I asked the empty air.

"I'm Jarvis, Mr. Stark's artificial intelligence computer. I assist with the controls of the Iron Man suit."

I sniffed. "Well, that's very prestigious." I paused a moment, thinking. "If you're supposed to be in the suit, then why am I talking to you now?"

"I'm a program, miss, and therefore I can be installed throughout the building, as well as in the suit. I am, in a sense, the voice of Stark Tower. I take care of everything that pertains to personal possessions of Mr. Stark, and let him know if there are any problems."

I laughed, leaning against the wall. Stark needed a robot to tell him if his toilet was backed up? Too good. I was holding my stomach, bent over at the waist. The last time I'd laughed like that was just before Chris Garfield's party…. The laughter stopped, and my face paled. "Nice to meet you, Voice of the Tower," I answered wearily.

"Jarvis works just fine, Miss Monet. No official titles are needed. Now, do you need a cab?"

The slightly robotic British voice was sort of nice, and I was surprised that something Stark designed could be so polite. I shook my head. "Um, no, I don't think so. I don't even know where I'm going."

The doors dinged again and slid open once more, revealing the front entryway to the Tower, and beyond that, glass door showing the busy streets of New York. Jarvis was speaking to me again, a farewell. "Then, by all means, go and explore the city. Enjoy yourself, Miss Monet, and try to stay out of trouble."

I snorted as I walked outside. "I think I just made friends with a computer," I said to nobody in particular.

One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. Because I didn't know what there was around here, I decided to take Jarvis's advice and take a look around. I walked off in one direction, away from Stark and his moody drunkenness.

Let the adventure begin!


	9. Chapter 8: Reconciliation

Chapter Eight: Reconciliation

_That's a cute shirt,_ I thought as I stared into a shop window. If I'd had any money, I probably would have bought it. But, oh well. I didn't even have money for food with me, and my stomach was gearing up to engorge itself. _How clever of you, Mo, not bringing any cash. Really smart._

I'd been out here for around an hour. There was no way in hell I was going back while Stark was still drunk, even though I was starving, and the air outside was getting colder. It was December, so that was a perfectly plausible explanation for the change. The sky was covered in pale clouds. And you know what that means?

Snow.

And, right on cue, tiny white flakes began to fall.

_Oh, perfect._ I buried my hands in my pockets and walked against the wind, blinded by the laidback flurry. I had no idea where I was heading, or even what direction I was walking in, but it didn't really matter; someone grabbed my arm and pulled me inside a shop.

"Cold enough for you?" Barton laughed.

I blinked snowflakes out of my eyelashes and grinned at him. "Nah, it's actually pretty warm outside!"

He poked the tip of my nose, or at least I assumed he did. It was numb, so I couldn't feel it. "Then why is your nose all red? Hm?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Are you hungry at all? I just woke up about an hour or two ago. I haven't eaten yet."

"Starving," I replied.

"Excellent."

With his hand on the small of my back, he guided me to an empty table. The shop smelled wonderful, and I discovered that it was a coffee shop. Not Starbucks, exactly, but it was still pretty awesome. We both ordered muffins and hot chocolate, and as we waited, we talked about anything and everything, except for the things that pertained to S.H.I.E.L.D.

For instance, I discovered that he was from Iowa like me, and the town he'd lived in wasn't that far away from mine. Small world. I also learned that he was orphaned, except for his brother, whom he hadn't seen in several years. "But that's okay," he said. "I've found friends and a job to keep me occupied." He winked.

In return, I told him about school, and my friends Jenna and Grace, and my brother, Adam. I left out the part about Jenna's cousins, and how I was madly in love with Brendon. Some people don't need to know _everything_…

"So you were really one of four freshmen to get cast into the play?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I gave him a look of fake irritation. "Don't sound so surprised." Then I laughed, because I couldn't be mad at him after he'd rescued me from the cold. I tilted my head and grinned. "But, yeah, I was. Impressed?" I winked, trying to imitate him.

"Oh, definitely." His laughter rang in the half full café.

When our breakfast (or I guess it was lunch by then) arrived, we dug in. I'd ordered a double chocolate muffin; Barton had gotten a chocolate chip one. I picked at it with my fingers, smearing chocolate all over my fingertips. It was absolute heaven.

The hot chocolate was even better. The steam was working wonders on my frozen nose. I held the mug up to my face, breathing in the sweet scent of paradise in a beverage. It tasted even better.

When my eyes finally tore themselves away from the brown swirly depths, I found Barton watching me. The conversation had paused while we ate; the silence was starting to catch up to me. His look was making me self-conscious, too.

I set the mug down. "What?"

He blinked once. His head moved a little to the right. Slowly, he shook his head. "Nothing," he finally said. "Nothing at all."

My eyebrows came together in confusion, but I didn't ask for an explanation. I stuck my finger in my drink and made little circles. "So what are you doing out in the city?"

He cleared his throat. "Actually, I was looking for you. But we don't have to talk about that right now."

"No, it's okay. What for?"

"I went to Stark Tower, but Tony said you'd left." My eyes hardened into a glare at the mention of my new home. Barton only grinned. "I know what happened. Don't worry, though. I kicked the shit out of Stark for you."

I smiled as I stared at the tabletop. My cheeks heated into a blush. If I was lucky, he'd only think it was from the cold outside. Even if he didn't, he was too nice to ask about it. _Oh, Barton,_ I thought. _What did I do to deserve a friend like you?_

"Anyway, Fury asked me to bring you this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

I took it from his hand. It was average sized, shiny and new, and all black. It slid open revealing a keyboard for texting. It was better than the phone I had to leave behind at home. As grateful as I was for it, if it was from Fury, I had to suspect an ulterior motive. "What the hell does he want?" I asked abruptly.

I caught him off guard, apparently. "No, Mo, it's not like that."

"It's not an apology present, is it?" My tone of voice was accusing.

"No, no! In case any of us need to get in contact with you, we can call you on this. It's a lot more inconspicuous than talking through your earpiece, you know?" His jaw clenched. "It'd be a pretty pathetic apology present, wouldn't it?"

I smirked. "Yeah, just a bit. But, thank you for bringing it to me." My eyes lit up. "Can I call home?"

"No." My face fell. "Fury set certain restrictions on it. You can only call Fury, me, Natasha, Rogers, Banner, Stark, Thor, or any S.H.I.E.L.D. base."

One word caught my attention. "Thor can use a phone?"

Barton laughed, immediately defusing the tense atmosphere we'd been sitting in. "Yes, Mo. It was more difficult getting Rogers to get the hang of it than it was Thor."

I shook my head with a grin. "Now, that doesn't surprise me much."

Barton threw a few bills on the table and stood, offering his arm. "Are you ready to go?"

I popped the last bite of my muffin in my mouth and linked my arm through his. "Yup. Thanks for…whatever meal that was."

"Sure. We'll have to do it again sometime."

I just smiled as we walked out into the street. The weather had taken a turn for the worst and was in full-blown blizzard mode. I huddled closer to Barton's side, shivering. I was only wearing my Animo outfit, which had turned into a tank top and shorts, in case you forgot. Not exactly winter gear.

Barton lifted his jacket up to cover our backs. "What's wrong with you? Do you not watch the weather?" He laughed. I was tempted to hit him out of spite.

"I kind of left the Tower in a hurry, remember?"

He nodded. "Ah, yes. Yes, I do remember. I think we're almost there, actually." He grinned at me. "Freezing time is about over."

I cheered, which only made him laugh louder than he had before. He shook his head and nudged me with his shoulder. Good thing it wasn't icy just yet, or else I would have slipped and fallen. "You're such a jerk, Barton." But I couldn't suppress a slight giggle.

"I have a question for you," he said simply, ignoring my huffy remark.

My eyebrows rose. "Do you?"

"Why did you call me Jeremey? Back at the party, I mean."

The snow stopped falling on us. We were just outside Stark's place, standing underneath the overhang above the entrance. It was fortunate, too, because I slid down to the dry cement and laughed. "That?" I gasped from glee. "That's your question? Why I called you what I did?" He nodded, confused. "You called me Jenna, for God's sake! That's my best friend's name!"

Barton crossed his arms, faking irritation. He was more like an innocent imitation of Stark. "You didn't answer my question," he pointed out.

I shrugged, smirking. "You just look like a Jeremy. Sorry if that offends you."

He held out his hand. I took it and got pulled to my feet. He scoffed. "Offend _me_? Oh, heavens no! You could _never_ offend me, Mo."

I smacked his arm. "You're so dramatic!" I complained with a smile. I couldn't suppress the urge to hug him, so I did. "See you later, Barton," I whispered into his ear before backing away.

He waved, and in a girly voice, said, "Bye, girl." He winked, sticking out his tongue. "Good luck with Stark!"

_Oh, shit. I forgot about Stark._ I opened the door. "Have fun freezing your ass off!" I tossed back good-naturedly. I gnawed on my lip as I left him behind, anticipating the confrontation I'd have to deal with when I reached the top floor. With any luck, he'd be out, but I wasn't so lucky as of late.

"Welcome back, Miss Monet. Did you enjoy your walk?"

I stepped into the elevator and rubbed my numb arms, trying to get some feeling back into them. "It was a little cold for my taste, Jarvis."

"That would be because it's snowing, I presume?"

I sighed and shook my head. "Yes, that would be why." What a dumb question for a computer to ask.

My fingers found the button that would take me to the top floor. I hesitated a few seconds, contemplating whether that was what I really wanted to do. It was either go up and see Stark, or go back outside and turn into a popsicle. Then my hero name would be Mosicle instead of Animo. Finally deciding that I'd rather get into an argument with Stark, I hit the button and sat on the floor.

When the doors slid open, I heaved myself to my feet again. "Have a nice day, Miss Monet."

"You too, Jarvis," I replied, stepping out into the room. It smelled foul in there; it was like Stark had walked around with all the liquor he owned and dumped it all over the floor. I scrunched my nose and called out "Stark?" as I slipped out of my boots.

There were footsteps on my left as he walked out of what I assumed to be his bedroom. His hair was wet, like he'd just showered, and he was dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. He held out his arms.

I raised my eyebrows at him and recoiled. Stark just laughed and hugged me anyway. "Hello, Mo!" he caroled. "Did you have a nice time with Barton?"

He smelled like cologne, the really expensive stuff. At least he didn't reek of alcohol. I leaned back and away from him as far as I could. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He let me go with a shake of his head. "Nothing." I gave him a look of disbelief, and he continued, sheepishly, "I get silly when I'm wasted. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? The hug, or practically kicking me out of here while it was snowing?" I snapped.

"Both?"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't really need an apology, nor was I really that mad at him. Stark wasn't my favorite person in the world, but I didn't…_hate_ him…necessarily. He had his moments where I thought of him as sort of a friend. Sometimes. Most of the time he was a pain in the ass. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't be mad at what he did or said when he was drunk. He wasn't a bad person. He deserved my forgiveness on occasion.

I smirked. "Okay, fine, I forgive you."

He fist pumped. "Yes!" God, he was weird when he was wasted. I just shook my head and laughed at him.

The happiness was cut short when he shoved me to the side, making me fall to the floor. Next, he grabbed my boots and ran. "Stark!" I screamed, regaining my feet. "Get back here with those!" I sprinted after him, but the door to his room was already shut and locked. I pounded on it with my fist. "Stark!"

"Calm yourself, Mo, I only need them for a bit. I'll be out in an hour. Or two. Or three." Was it me, or did he sound _a lot_ less drunk than he did when he hugged me?

I turned around and sat down, leaning my back against the door. "Damn you!" I yelled. I heard laughter from within.

Like five minutes later, I was bored out of my mind. I contemplated getting up and retrieving my iPod from my room, but then I remembered that it was missing. Stupid Stark probably had that too. I settled for crossing my arms with an irritated huff and humming a few songs to myself.

When that lost its effect, I tried counting all the hair on my head. That was quickly a fail, so I had no choice but to hit my head against the door. "Stark," I complained. "How much longer?"

"You've only been sitting out there for fifteen minutes."

"Oh. My. God." I flopped onto my side in exasperation. "Hurry up, will you?"

"Shut up and take a nap."

"Okay," I consented. I closed my eyes. That position wasn't comfortable. I rolled over onto my back. Nope. I finally just decided to sit up and lean against the door again. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead on them. My eyes closed once more.

I didn't realize how tired I really was until I dozed off.

oOoOo

"Mo!"

It was Stark's voice, but I didn't want to move. Every muscle was stiff from the awkwardness of how I sat. I heard a slow, mournful creak, and then the door was ripped open, making me fall backward with a shrill scream.

I looked up to see Stark's brown eyes hovering over me. He smiled. "You were blocking the doorway."

"Where are my boots?" I mumbled, rubbing one eye with my fist. It had only been a few hours, and I was acting like a zombie.

Black boots were set down on my stomach. They didn't look that different. So what took him so long? "What did you do to them?" I asked, twisting myself around to sit up on one elbow.

Stark leaned over and took my wrist, snapping a cuff on around it. Then he took the other wrist and pulled me to my feet, knocking the boots to the floor. He nodded at them. "Put those on."

I gave him a confused look but obeyed, pulling them on over my bare feet. The only difference I noticed was that they molded perfectly to my feet and all the way up to where they ended mid-shin. There were a few straps added in, which Stark pointed out and made me fasten, making the boots even tighter against my legs. They certainly weren't falling off.

"Thanks, I guess. Worried they were gonna fall off while I was jumping on alien backs?" I chuckled.

He laughed with me, grabbed my shoulder, and steered me over to a door. It opened out onto a little runway that I recognized as the landing strip that extended out of Stark Tower. "No, I wasn't worried about them falling off then. Push that button." He nodded at my cuff.

A little red button was glowing. I pressed it, and it turned green. The boots began vibrating. "Foot massager boots?" I smirked at him. Really? That's what he did?

"No. Well, I suppose, maybe. No. You see, Mo, now that you don't have your jacket with wings – and don't get me wrong, I'll miss that _terribly_ – you need another way to get around." Stark's hand moved to the middle of my back. "So now you can do this!"

And he pushed me. Right off the edge.

I screamed as I fell. Stark's voice followed me down. "Merry early Christmas!" he shouted.

_Oh my God, he's really going to kill me!_ I thought frantically.

I plummeted several hundred feet before the boots started to heat up. Suddenly, fire was exploding out of the bottoms of them, and I shot back up. That only made me scream louder, of course, but it was more of excitement than fear. Stark gave me jet booster things like the ones in his Iron Man suit!

"This is so cool!" I laughed as I zoomed past Stark. He was grinning. "How do I turn it off?"

"Push the button again!" he called as I grew closer to flying over him again.

I did as he said and pushed the button. The green went back to red, and the fire shut off as I dropped back down, freefalling.

Stark held his arms out and caught me bridal style, laughing. "What do you think?" he asked.

"You're insane!" I exclaimed, glaring at him. "But that was so fun!"

He laughed at me. "Am I forgiven?"

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Yes! Thank you _so_ much!"

A slight blush spread across his face as he carried me inside again. "You're welcome. Best Christmas present ever, huh?"

I nodded vigorously. "You know what this means, right?" He gave me a blank stare. "I am definitely decorating Stark Tower. And you're helping me."

"I gave you boots to make you fly, and you're going to make me hang tinsel from my windows?" Stark set me down and crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at me.

I mimicked his pose and countered, "Let's not forget that you kicked me out this morning, and also pushed me off the Tower without telling me what the boots did."

He scoffed. "Manipulative little bitch, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He hung his head, ashamed. "Where do we start?"

oOoOo

"This looks ridiculous!"

"Shut up, it looks awesome! Hand me the box."

Stark, in his Iron Man suit, flew the box full of sparkly tinsel over to me. I grinned at him, mocking him silently. "Thank you."

It was a few days later, and I'd officially figured out how to work the boots without going splat on the pavement below. Stark and I were decorating the outside of his tower, much to his dismay. He couldn't do anything about it, though. I had him caught.

"Are we almost done?" he asked, taking the box back from my hands and going to hover a few feet away. "There are people watching us from the streets."

I laughed. "Maybe we'll end up on the news!" I looked over my shoulder to see him watching me carefully. The faceguard on his helmet was up, and I could tell that he hadn't caught on to the fact that I knew he was staring. "Stark, I'm not gonna fall." He blinked a few times before blushing. "And, in answer to your question, yes, we are almost done. Hand me the cord for the lights."

Darkness was starting to set in over New York. I twirled in circles as I flew to the power outlet. As soon as I plugged it in, everything lit up. Stark Tower was covered in tiny white lights and golden tinsel. Frankly, it looked fantastic.

Stark appeared at my side. "Okay, as much as I hate to admit it, it actually looks really nice."

"Oh, I know it does." I smiled at him. "Let's go back inside; I'm cold."

Safely inside the Tower once more, I turned back to Stark and gave him my best puppy dog look. He raised his eyebrows in suspicion. "What do you want now?" he accused.

"Can we have a Christmas party?" I asked, jutting out my lower lip into a pout. I had him wrapped around my finger; there was no way he could say no.

He sighed. "When?"


	10. Chapter 9: Drinks and Dares

Chapter Nine: Drinks and Dares

I crossed my arms across my chest and stared at my handiwork. Okay, the tree didn't look terrible. That was about all that I could hope for. It was basically just a mass of green, interrupted frequently with shiny tinsel and a random spattering of ornaments. And my jeans were covered in excess glitter that made me look like a disco ball.

With a sigh, I walked across the room and flopped onto the couch, not caring how messy I was. It was ten minutes until six o'clock, and my arms were sore from trying to reach the top of the tree. Damn my shortness.

"Mo, you're getting glitter all over my couch!" Stark complained, strolling into the room, one hand behind his back.

I laughed. "Sorry," I said unconvincingly. It was a leather couch; he could just wipe it off. "Did you buy food? Like, actual food, and not just booze?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, mother," he sighed dramatically. "It's in the fridge; get it out when you want it."

I smirked and crossed my arms behind my head. "Excellent." He nodded and moved away, walking backward. I sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. "Wait, what's in your hand?"

Stark smiled. "Nothing."

I stood, glitter falling to the floor as I did so. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying." He brought his hands around and held them up for me to see. The only problem? They were clenched into fists.

I stuck my lower lip out in a pout, hands on my hips. "Tell me."

"The proof is right in front of you, crazy! I'm clean!" he protested, backing away from me, fists still raised protectively in front of his face. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes that I didn't like.

I sprung forward, arms outstretched. They circled his body, causing my face to smash into his chest, and both of us to crash to the floor. My nose was sore from the collision, but I probably wasn't in as much pain as he was, although he didn't look too bad. "Tell meeee!" I screeched, drawing out the last word in a painfully high octave.

"Get your fat ass off me," Stark moaned, ignoring me and pushing me off him with one hand. The other remained firmly closed around his dirty little secret.

I rolled over and lay sprawled on the floor, splayed out like I was making a snow angel. "You are a horrible person, Stark."

He laughed and shrugged it off. "Yeah, I know."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope." I moaned loudly, in an overdramatic way. "Mo, come on. You're acting childish."

I sat up, rested my elbows on my knees, and eyed him reproachfully. "I don't approve of secrets, Stark," I began in a businesslike manner. "And it pisses me off that you won't tell me. So, if you decide not to, I will 'respect' that answer and instead turn to making your life a living hell." My voice dripped with venom, and then turned to sound like Nick Fury. "It's your choice. Pick the right one."

Stark raised his eyebrows. "I've been in hell for several years. What harm could you possibly do?"

I gave him another pouty glare before jumping on his stomach, pummeling him lightly with my fists. Yes, childish, but who cares? It's Christmas! "You're so _mean_!" I yelled, annoyed. He just shook his head in amazement.

The elevator dinged, but I didn't notice it until I heard the footsteps approach us. "Mo? What are you doing?"

I looked up and blushed. "Oh, hey, Rogers."

Steve Rogers stood above Stark and me, giving the two of us a look of utter bewilderment. Natasha, Banner, and Barton strolled up behind him. Thor trailed after them, giving me a smile when he saw me.

Stark pushed me off him again and stood, yanking me up with him. That evil glint had returned, fixed on Barton's unaware face. I elbowed Stark in the ribs and growled, "What is your issue?"

Suddenly, his face lit up with a crazy grin and his fist opened and he smacked me on the forehead. Before I could even think to ask what the hell had just happened, he'd shoved me into Barton's chest, yelling, "Merry Christmas everyone!"

I was blushing furiously when I stepped back. Barton's cheeks were tinted with pink also, but he said, "A present? For me?" Then he winked. "But I didn't buy you anything!"

"Present? What present?" I asked, confused. Everyone was laughing at me. I crossed my arms. "What?"

Barton reached out and pulled something off my forehead. A shiny blue bow was cupped in his hand. "I believe Stark made you into a Christmas present, Mo."

I was sure that I looked like a tomato with how red my face was getting. I directed my gaze to my bare feet, scratching the back of my neck. _What for?_ I asked myself. _Why are you so embarrassed?_ I had no idea.

So I straightened back up, took the bow from Barton's hand, and placed it on my forehead once again. "Merry Christmas!" I sang, throwing my arms out wide.

They all cheered and laughed, holding their arms out like mine were, even Rogers. Nothing about him seemed quite as reserved as it usually was. He just looked like a man who hasn't seen a hard day in years, and knows that he's got good things to look forward to for days and days to come. He wasn't a military man. He was just old Steve Rogers.

Well, post-transformation Steve Rogers, anyway.

"Well, we've got drinks and food." I paused. "And that's pretty much it."

Natasha smiled at me. "That's all we need."

oOoOo

A few hours later, Stark was singing at the top of his lungs and spinning in circles. As I still hadn't found my iPod, I'd unearthed a radio from a hall closet and figured out how to turn it on. So Stark was the entertainment, singing every single song. The only problem? I don't think he even knew what the song was. Even if he did, it was all too slurred for me to tell.

It wasn't much of a party, really. Just friends hanging out with a Christmas tree in the room. I was sat at the bar with Thor, watching him down glass after glass. Barton was leaning against the wall, talking to Banner. Both had nearly empty glasses. Stark had an entire bottle.

"Shut up, Stark!" Rogers came walking into the room, a glass of alcohol in his hand. I, apparently, wasn't the only one getting tired of the billionaire's voice, although the outburst did surprise me a little.

"Okay, who gave Captain Tight-Ass the booze?" Stark asked, cutting the dying whale noises with a look of complete astonishment on his face. I stifled a laugh when he hugged his vodka bottle to his chest, like he was trying to protect it from the mean old captain.

Rogers shrugged. "Nobody. I helped myself."

I looked at Thor. "Do you think it's a good idea for him to be drinking?"

Thor grinned. "Who? Stark or Rogers?"

"Rogers. But Stark drinking probably isn't much better."

This made Thor laugh. "Banner is drinking, too. And so am I. Sometimes we men need to take our minds off our troubles." I gave him a look of disbelief, but he ignored it. "By the way, where did Natasha run off to?"

I looked around. She wasn't in the living room with us, nor was she behind us in the kitchen. She'd disappeared. "You know, I'm not sure." I shrugged. "She'll be fine."

Thor laughed again and leaned back in his chair, taking a swig from his drink. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Are you not going to have any?" he asked, indicating the glass in his hand.

"I'm sixteen."

"And?"

I shook my head with a grin. I forgot he wasn't from here. "That's illegal." And even if it wasn't, I'd smelled what he was drinking, and it was strong enough to put Stark in the hospital.

"Ah." Thor nodded. "We do not have rules like that in Asgard."

I crossed my legs and folded my hands into my lap, turning the barstool I was on until I was facing Thor. "Tell me about Asgard."

I wasn't prepared for a long description of the scenery and the food, the people and the places. Although it took him a long time just to talk about his father, the king, and his mother, it was nice to hear about it. It was also plain to see that he enjoyed telling someone, too. But there was one thing missing from his tales.

"What about your brother?"

"He's adopted," Thor mumbled quickly, glaring at the floor.

"Okay, what about your adopted brother?"

He gave me a cautious glance. "Why do you want to know?"

I tried to think of a good reason, but couldn't find one. "I don't know," I answered truthfully. "You've told me about everything but him. Why?" Thor was silent. I nudged him with my elbow. "Come on, please? It's not like you hate him or anything."

He gave a halfhearted chuckle. "No, I feel no hate toward him. We were raised as brothers, Loki and I. That is all we have ever known of each other. He looked different, he acted different, he could do magic perfectly, but he was my brother. We fought together, caused trouble together." He smiled. "Nothing else mattered."

"But?"

"But then he grew jealous. He wanted the attention I was getting. When I was banished here, he tried to take over after finding out the truth of his origins. His anger had blinded him. I returned, and we fought, and he fell off the Bifrost. We all thought he had died."

I nodded sympathetically. "But he turned up here."

"Yes. And you know what happens after that." Thor drank from his glass again. "And now he's imprisoned back in Asgard."

Well, I wasn't sure what to say after that. "Okay. Thank you for telling me." Eh, good enough.

I was so absorbed in our conversation that I hadn't noticed that the other men had grown quiet. Stark, Rogers, Barton, and Banner were talking in the far corner. For some reason, this worried me deeply. "What do you think they're talking about?" I whispered to Thor.

He took another gulp from his drink. "Nothing good, I am sure. Sit here. I will go and see."

Thor stood and walked over to them. They immediately hushed their voices. I strained to hear without being too obvious, but had no luck. Banner was shaking his head; everyone else was nodding. I took that moment to look around again. Natasha was still nowhere to be found.

Thor returned shortly after. "What's going on?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Their voices were too slurred for me to figure it out. They have had too much alcohol, I believe." This remark surprised me, as Thor had drank more than any of them.

He laughed suddenly. "I hope nothing too bad happens. Pepper will have a fit when she returns."

Pepper…that sounded familiar. "Pepper. She's the CEO of Stark Industries, right? I think I saw something on TV about that."

"And she is Stark's lady."

Stark's got a girlfriend? Oh, this will make things interesting. Something to hold over his head next time he steps out of line… Excellent.

Speak of the devil. Stark came waltzing over. He sat on the barstool next to me. "So, Mo, what kind of classes do you take in school?" he slurred. He put a hand on my arm. I shivered; he grinned.

I raised my eyebrows. What a pointless question. But I answered anyway. "Geography, American lit, chemistry – "

"Chemistry?" Stark interrupted. I realized my mistake a little too late. "Are you any good at Chemistry?"

Ah, shit. "Yeah, I guess so," I sighed, waiting for the punch line.

"I'm sure." He nodded. "I'm _great_ with chemistry." Ah, there it is.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Stark, are you _really_ playing the chemistry angle? Because that's kind of pathetic." I looked at Thor for help. He shrugged again. _Thanks for the help, buddy,_ I thought drily.

Stark closed his eyes and sighed. "You drive me crazy."

"Yeah, well, you drive me crazy, too."

Both eyes snapped back open and a sly grin emerged on his lips. Dammit. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning forward so his face was close to mine. He smelled like vodka.

I turned and looked him in the eye. Time to play with my new information! "I'm sure Pepper would _love_ to hear about this, don't you think?"

Stark opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he wanted to say something. Finally, looking defeated, he got up and left.

Thor laughed and shook his head. "You handled that quite well," he said, smiling at me. I smiled back.

"At least he's gone." I watched Stark receive a few pats on the back and what I'm sure were condolences. Then Stark have Barton a little push and I heard a faint "you're up".

Thor's glass was shaking in his hand from laughter, badly enough that he had to use both hands.

"Oh, no," I sighed as Barton came over. He didn't sit, just stood there in front of me with his arms crossed in front of his chest. I noticed that, even though I was on a bar stool, and my feet weren't touching the ground, he was taller than me. I sighed again and looked him in his blue eyes. "Look, Barton, I – " Then he kissed me.

I drew in a sharp intake of breath as his calloused hands held my chin in place. Alarm bells were blaring in my head, but I couldn't pull away, despite my attempts to do so. His lips tasted of alcohol, not as strong as what Thor was consuming, but strong enough that I could tell it was there. I was completely caught off guard, and I had to hand it to him for being so blunt.

_Let me go, let me go, let me go!_ I pleaded silently.

He drew back but didn't release my face. I realized my eyes had closed (when did _that_ happen?), so I opened them. "Barton – "

He kissed me again, lightly this time. "No talking."

Everything had gone silent, except my heart. It was hammering in my chest, loudly enough that I was sure everyone could hear it. This was all just so…bizarre. My eyes stared into his.

Rogers broke the silence. "How the hell and I supposed to top _that_?" he exclaimed.

"You can't!" Thor replied gleefully. "Barton wins!"

I wrenched myself out of Barton's grasp. "Ex_cuse_ me?" I snapped, heat rising inside me. "What do you mean 'wins'? Was this some stupid _contest_?"

My outburst seemed to have sobered them up a little. "Mo – " Barton began, but I silenced him with a murderous glare.

I looked to Thor. "Were you in on this?"

Thor cleared his throat. "Well, in a way I was." At my warning hiss, he continued. "They requested that I be their judge."

I crossed my arms across my chest and leaned against Stark's counter. I blew out a puff of air, making a curl dislodge and fall into my face. I tucked it behind my ear. "You know that was all _way_ illegal, right?" I was referring, of course, to the fact that I was a minor and they were all _grown men_.

They had all drawn nearer during that short span of time. Stark was now standing beside me, rubbing my shoulder. "What are you going to do about it? Alert the authorities?"

"Maybe."

"Sweetie," he breathed into my ear. Once again, I was struck by the foul stench of alcohol on his breath. "We _are_ the authorities."

I prepared to kick him, but he was lifted away before I could. My blonde-haired, heavily muscled guardian had Stark by his shirtfront. "That's enough," he growled with his deep, starting to become scary, voice. "I already deemed Barton the winner."

"Who says I was doing this for the competition?" Stark sneered.

I stepped into his range of sight. "You'd better be saying it for the competition if I decide to tell Pepper," I warned. Overkill, maybe, with the Pepper threats, but he was pissing me off and I knew it'd scare him.

"You have no proof any of this even happened," he countered.

That was true. So what could I do now? I just glared angrily at Stark, who was giving me a triumphant smile. Barton was trying to catch my eye, but I ignored him. He was at fault here, too. As much as I wanted to hate Rogers and Banner for being in on this, they didn't really do anything. I couldn't bring myself to feel anything more than slight irritation. Thor, on the other hand, had me completely baffled. He knew what was going on, but he'd also just rescued me from Stark. _And I still couldn't find Natasha!_

My head was starting to hurt from all the emotions swirling around, so I whipped around and stalked to my bedroom, completely done with that sorry excuse for a party.

_It was your idea, Mo._

_ Shut up, head!_ I snapped. _Oh God, I'm going crazy._

Well, I had learned something new about my friends and drinking. They were each a different breed of drunk: Rogers was a loud drunk, Banner was a silent drunk, Thor didn't _get_ drunk, Stark was a mean drunk, and Barton… I had no idea.

And speaking of Stark… Thor had set him back on his feet. "Retreating, are you? Couldn't think of anything else to threaten me with? Figures."

His gloating smile and horrid laughter pushed me over the edge.

"_Merry Christmas, you bastard!_" I yelled, slamming the door in all of their faces.


	11. Chapter 10: Prison Cell

Chapter Ten: Prison Cell

I stormed around the room, throwing the pillows off my bed and kicking them as hard as I could until they hit the wall. Then I tore all the blankets off and let them fall into a pile on the floor. I could hear muffled voices outside the door, no doubt talking about me and my sudden tantrum. But dammit, they _really_ shouldn't have done that!

I couldn't explain the turn that my emotions had taken, but they were far away from calm. My temper, it seemed, had reached an all-time high, and I didn't even know why it bothered me so much. It was just Stark being stupid like always, and a drunk kiss from Barton that wasn't even that good.

The anger faded just as quickly as it had flared. Shaking slightly, I pulled myself onto the bare mattress and rested my back against the headboard, pulling my knees up to my chest.

The tips of my fingers ran lightly across my lips; my eyes stared at something I couldn't see. My thoughts were all muddled together, but one stood out from the others: that was nothing like how it sounds in movies and books.

"This is bullshit!" I exclaimed suddenly, jumping at how loud my voice sounded. I stopped for a minute and listened. There were still hushed voices in the other room; they must not have heard my outburst.

I shifted positions and fell onto my side, resting my head on my arm, glaring at the door. Really, though. Books and movies must over exaggerate everything, because angels did not sing, sparks did not fly, and I was not head over heels in love with Clint Barton. I had just been deprived of my storybook first kiss.

I call extreme bullshit.

I contemplated over that for a bit longer before asking myself why I even cared. Why did it bother me so much that my first kiss was stolen by a grown man that I'd only known for almost two months? Oh God, that made it sound like Barton was some creepy pedophile! He was just drunk! It wasn't his fault!

Rolling around and pulling on my hair was not sufficient enough to express my frustration with my train of thought. _You don't care, Mo. You don't care._ I chanted this over and over again in my head, but there wasn't much of an effect.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed at one of the blankets with my toes. It took a few tries, but I eventually succeeded in dragging it up onto the mattress with me. The pillows were too far away, so I went without them, wrapping myself up in the sheet and using my arm as a pillow instead.

The answerless question weighed heavy on my mind and tired me out, so I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. As still as I was, and as quiet as everyone else was, it was, regardless, over an hour before I drifted off.

oOoOo

Bright light woke me abruptly the next morning. I sat up with a jerk, tangling myself further in my sheet. A towering figure stood in the doorway, his hand still hovering over the light switch.

"_Thor_?" I gaped. What was he doing in my room?

"Are you awake?" the blonde god asked, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.

I yawned and rubbed an eye with my fist. "I am now, thanks to you."

In a few quick strides, he was beside me, pulling me into his arms and lifting me into the air. He'd trapped me in a bone-crushing hug.

I struggled in his grip. "Hey!" He ignored me. "Thor, put me down!"

"My apologies, Mo. I did not realize my actions from last night would anger you."

"Yeah, well, I really don't care anymore. Can you let me go now?" I sighed.

It was like he didn't hear me; he was still stuttering his regrets. I was starting to gasp for breath. "Thor! Put me down! Now!" I snapped. Almost immediately, he dropped me onto the mattress. "Jesus, Thor, were you trying to kill me? I couldn't _breathe_!"

He gave me a small half smile. "Sorry," he mumbled.

I grinned. "That's all right. And, you know, I don't really care about what you did last night. It's fine." He sighed in relief as I untangled myself from the sheet.

"Thor," I began as I attempted to free my right leg. "Was there any particular reason you burst into my room on Christmas morning, besides to apologize?"

Thor cleared his throat. "I have business of great importance with my father today, and I was curious to know if you would like to come with me."

I raised my eyebrows. "You want me to go to Asgard with you?"

"I you do not wish to, I understand."

I leapt to my feet and threw my arms around Thor's neck, screeching with happiness. I'd be surprised if I didn't break his eardrums. "I'd love to!" I laughed, pulling back a little to look at his face. "When do we leave?"

Thor unwrapped my arms from his neck and set me gently on the floor beside him. He took my hand in his and pulled me tight against his side. "We are leaving now." With his free hand he turned my face toward his. "If you start to get dizzy at all, close your eyes. Okay?" I nodded. "Heimdall!"

Before I could ask what that last bit meant, Stark Tower was gone.

Lights in different colors danced across my vision as we surged upward. The experience was thrilling, but I found myself getting dizzy quickly and had to lean my head on Thor's arm. Not once did I close my eyes, however.

When the ride was over, I found myself standing on solid ground inside a golden dome. A man with dark skin was pulling a golden sword out of the structure in the center. "Welcome back, Prince Thor," he said, nodding in our direction. He ignored me completely.

"Thank you, Heimdall," Thor replied, moving his hand to my back and guiding me forward.

Once we were outside, I got my first glimpse of Asgard. It was seriously the most beautiful place I'd ever seen. I swear it was made of gold. Buildings towered to the sky, gleaming in the sunlight. I looked at Thor, who was smiling down at me. Then my gaze moved to my feet. I was standing on a rainbow!

"This is the Bifrost," he said.

As we made our way down the long and colorful bridge, I did nothing but stare at the civilization that was looming ever nearer. A tiny bit of fear wedged itself into my stomach, but I ignored it and instead filled myself with excitement. I was in _Asgard_, for God's sake!

We stopped outside the tallest of the buildings. People were walking in and out of the giant doors, waving or smiling at Thor and casting curious glances toward me.

"Is this the palace or something?" I asked, not knowing the proper term for where his father lived. He nodded and I smiled up at him. "What are we doing here again?"

We started to walk, Thor guiding me through the doors and into exquisitely decorated hallways. He chuckled. "_I _have come to speak to my father. _You_ are merely along for the ride." He ducked his head close to mine, his voice lowering into a warning tone. "Mind you, stay with me. No wandering off." He held up a hand when I tried to protest. "I know you, and I am being serious. There are some things here that are very different from Midgard. Humans should not be here."

So there were things here I wasn't allowed to see? That captured my interest quite a bit. Surely I wouldn't be missed for a few moments? But Thor was staring firmly at me, expecting me to promise I wouldn't go off on my own. "I promise I'll stay with you. Okay?" I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. I'd only sneak away if there was something interesting to look at.

Satisfied with my response, he pulled me along down more corridors. Countless numbers of doors flashed by, but I didn't bother to ask what was behind them. Thor probably wouldn't answer anyway.

We went down a short flight of steps into what looked like the nicer part of a dungeon. Don't ask me why, it just had the vibe of a torture room. "The throne room or whatever is down _here_?" I asked, moving a little closer to the tall blonde's side.

"No, this is a shortcut. There are less people down here." Well, that made sense.

I looked to my left. "What's through there?" I asked as we passed by a closed door.

"Never you mind. The throne room is further along. This way."

Up until that moment, we hadn't seen any doors along this hallway. So, naturally, I wanted to know what was behind it. Maybe my ideas of medieval torture were correct after all?

Thor led me up some stairs, down a few more halls, and right up to a large, gilded door. The room behind it must have been cavernous. No way was it a simple broom closet. The space was surely fit for a king.

I drew back when Thor reached for the door's handle, suddenly overcome by a bout of terror. "I'll wait here."

Thor gave me a suspicious glance. I smiled at him, trying not to look too deceptive. I didn't want to see the king, Odin, Thor's father, whatever you want to call him. The thought scared me. What if I wasn't supposed to be there? What if Thor was wrong for bringing me here, and he got in trouble?

This also seemed to have crossed Thor's mind, for he said, in his tone from earlier, "Do not leave this spot. I will return shortly. Do you understand?"

I nodded, and off he went. As soon as the door closed behind him, I turned on my heel and slipped away as silently as I could manage. That solitary door was practically calling my name, so off down the many corridors I went, walking along like I was being pulled on a string.

There stood that door only minutes later. I congratulated myself for finding it as curiosity leaked into my bloodstream. There wasn't a doorknob to grab, so with a tentatively outstretched hand, I pressed my palm against the cool metal. Almost immediately, the door slid open.

I stepped inside, thinking that whatever was in there couldn't be too important if the door was left unlocked.

Faint blue light glowed in the center of the room. I went to it. A golden staff, or scepter, rather, held a sort of blue gem at the top. It struck a familiar chord within me. I'd seen it before, but where?

It wasn't until someone said "Magnificent, isn't it?" that I got it.

I turned slowly toward the voice. Behind me was what looked like a prison cell. Metallic bars ran vertically from the ceiling to the floor, too close together to squeeze through. Behind them stood a man.

Green-blue eyes watched me from beneath a frame of dark lashes. Long black hair fell down to his shoulders, making his pale face look even paler. Green, gold, and black clothing hung from his slender frame. His thin lips twisted into a cruel smile.

I was looking at Loki.

"Does this come as a shock to you?" his lethal voice purred as he leaned against the wall.

I shifted my weight to one foot. Time to turn on the charm. "No, not really. I mean, we _are_ in Asgard. Shouldn't I expect to see you here?" Was I lying? Depends how you look at it. Was his presence frightening me? Maybe a little.

Loki straightened up and stalked slowly to the front of his cage. "I suppose so. But I must admit, it is a surprise seeing _you_ here." He grinned. "Thor never mentioned you would be visiting."

"Didn't he?" I tilted my head. "Well, you know how Thor is…" I trailed off, smirking at the imprisoned god. "You've been in there for almost a year, haven't you? Don't you get, like, parole, or at least something close?"

"Parole?"

I shrugged. "You know, when they let you out early for good behavior. But they still watch you. At least you'd be free."

"Are you not afraid of me, Mo?" he asked, dodging my question.

I scoffed. "Why should I be? You're in there."

"Care to come closer then?"

I strode forward, not wanting to appear frightened. I wrapped my fingers around two of the bars, and in my best innocent voice, I asked, "Does he talk about me often? Thor, I mean."

Loki placed his thin fingers around my own. They were cold, making my hands begin to freeze. But I didn't pull away.

He gave a small half smile. "Only every time he is here." I laughed, and he continued. "Oh, yes. I have heard all the tales about your bravery, your wit, your compassion…"

That surprised me. Loki was evil, obviously, but clearly Thor trusted him enough to over exaggerate my skills.

"…your foolishness."

I didn't expect his hand to grip my throat, slamming me forward and making my head crash against the bars. Pain exploded inside me, and it took a great deal of effort not to gasp aloud.

"You think you are brave, strutting in here like you were royalty? Do you know what you are?" Loki's eyes blazed as he squeezed my neck, cutting off my air. "You are nothing! Just a fool who cannot comprehend the danger you get yourself into!"

I kept my face passive, as if I couldn't care less what he said. The words, in reality, stung. My eyes were trained on his. I didn't say anything. Anything at all.

Slowly, the grip on my throat loosened, and he released me. My hands remained firmly around the bars so I wouldn't fall.

Loki raised his eyebrows. "Marvelous. Not a sound? You _are_ a fool, kitten."

"Kitten?" I questioned, a little confused. That's what Stark called me on Thanksgiving, the day that the aliens attacked. How could Loki possibly know that? That's not exactly the kind of thing I could picture Thor telling him.

"I have heard all about your animal-like qualities. You resemble a kitten, completely harmless." He lifted a thin finger and traced my jawline. "Do not fret. I am rather fond of cats."

I sucked in a breath but didn't drop his gaze. _What the hell is he doing?_ I thought madly. My mind raced to visions of Barton smiling, laughing, lying in a pool of his own blood…and that kiss. Then those thoughts vanished and Brendon appeared, the boy my age that I left behind. My heart throbbed with a dull ache for him.

"Ah," Loki murmured triumphantly. "I can see the conflict in your eyes. You are worried about what he would think, are you not? Yes, the boy back home. You are afraid he may have some competition among your team." He pressed his forehead against the bars. His breath smelled of honey. "Who is this knife in the boy's back? Is it Barton?"

I took a step back, shaking my head. "How do you know that?"

"Am I correct?"

"No," I growled. "Brendon has no competition."

The look on Loki's face told me that he didn't quite believe what I was saying. The stupid prick was too smart for his own good, and I hated him for it. I began walking back and forth in front of his cage, grumbling to myself. Could he read my mind? Is that was this was about, some stupid mindreading trick to prove that, even though he was behind bars, he was still more powerful than I could ever be?

Yeah, probably.

"It _is_ Barton. Why him? What drew you to him? You are living with Stark, and yet you still chose him?" Loki pressed for answers, following me with his eyes.

I glared at him, clenching and unclenching my fists as I paced. "It's not Barton!" I snapped. "And it's not anyone else! I've been in love with Brendon for years. Do you really think I'm going to give up on him that easily, just because I'm hanging out with other guys?"

Loki smiled. "I think you'll find yourself capable of much worse than that, Mo."

I stopped and fixed a mutinous stare on his face. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Nope, don't think so. Enlighten me, please."

Loki's grin was starting to freak me out. "Mo, how much do you really know about the people you call your teammates?"

Nothing at all. "Enough."

"Really?" He tilted his head. "So you know they are not the people they seem to be on the outside? They are not innocent people. All the innocent people they have murdered, the crimes they have committed, the lies they have told… They are worse than any villain." He shook his head, as if the thoughts in his head were shameful. "Even Thor himself is not free of guilt. He too has blood on his shoulders."

I just stared at him. I didn't know what to say. He had to be lying.

"And your precious Barton is the worst of them all. He and that woman, Romanoff. They have dealt more deaths with their own two hands than the rest of the team combined." He scoffed. "And you call them good people?"

"No. You're lying." I took a few steps forward, clenching my fists so tight my nails were making crescent moon shapes on my palms. "They _are_ good people."

"But don't you see, Mo? You are going to be worse than all of them."

I raised my eyebrows and took a cautious step forward. "What?"

Loki shook his head again. "There are hard times in store for you. And that makes people do desperate things. Some kill others to make them feel the same pain they do. But others do something worse. And that is the category you fit into."

I was now so close to him that we were almost nose to nose, only separated by the bars in between us. I wanted to run back to where I'd left Thor and stop listening to the madness Loki was speaking, but I couldn't convince my feet to move. "And what category is that?" I breathed.

"Suicide," he said simply. "You are going to kill yourself, Mo."

My jaw dropped open and a few tears slipped out of my eyes. I was going to _kill myself_? How could he possibly know that? I had no intention whatsoever of offing myself! I would have slapped him, but my fear of the god had reached a new height. He'd just predicted my _death_!

"In a little less than two years' time, you are going to kill yourself in front of everyone, in the very same place where you now reside," Loki continued, reaching through the bars to lightly touch my forehead.

"You bastard!" I yelled just as the door flew open. "Why would you say something like that?"

"_Loki_!"

The dark-haired man withdrew his hand from my face and took a few steps away from the front of his cage. A smirk danced on his lips as Thor ran into the room.

Thor, my beautiful blonde savior, grabbed my wrist and shoved me behind him. His face was livid, and honestly scared me just a little more than Loki's words had. With his free hand, he reached through the bars and grabbed the front of Loki's shirt, pulling him up against the metal. "What did you say to her, Loki? Speak!"

But Loki wasn't paying attention to his brother. Instead, he was watching me with those greenish-blue eyes of his. I grabbed the back of Thor's shirt and peered out from under his arm, shaking slightly. I couldn't help the tears that were now in full-on free-fall, but I tried to keep as quiet as possible.

Finally fed-up with Loki's silence, Thor pushed him away and swept me out of the room. "Come visit again sometime," Loki's voice said just before the door closed behind us.

Safely in the deserted corridor, Thor whipped me around and gripped my shoulders. "I told you to _stay put_!" he snarled. "When I left my meeting with my father, you were _gone_, and I had no idea where you had run off to!"

I cowered away from him, directing my gaze at the floor. "Th-the door. That door." I nodded at Loki's prison door. "It's like it was telling me to go there." It was a stupid excuse, but there _was_ something weird about how easily I was able to find that door again.

"What did he say to you?" I blinked at Thor, pondering his question. He shook me a little. "Mo, what did he say?" he demanded.

"I-I don't remember!" I was telling the truth. It's like my mind had gone completely blank. I could remember the entire conversation up to the point where Loki had told me I was part of a different category of people. Not a murderer, but something else. "Thor, I don't know what he said!" I cried, struggling in his grip.

He let me go and glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. "Loki," he mumbled, narrowing his eyes. Then he looked back to me and took my hand. "I will speak with him at another time. For now, we have to get you back to Midgard."

I allowed Thor to pull me back out into the fading sunlight and toward the Bifrost. As our feet made hollow echoing noise on the rainbow bridge, I tried to think back to my encounter with Loki. Why couldn't I remember what he'd said?

He'd touched my forehead just after he'd said something. Maybe he'd wiped my memories? _That sneaky little bastard, _I thought bitterly.

Heimdall was waiting for us when we reached the golden dome. Thor wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me tight against his side like before. Then our feet left the ground, the dome disappeared, and we were surrounded once again by the flurry of colors.


	12. Chapter 11: Unstable

***Guys! It's my birthday! You know what that means? THREE new chapters! One for Animo (obviously), one for The Seer, and one for Tower Falling. Three's my favorite number, so this is my gift to all of you for being such wonderful people, reading my stuff and all :) I love you guys, and I hope you love this chapter!***

Chapter Eleven: Unstable

When the spirals of color finally stopped, we were back in my room at Stark Tower. I removed myself from Thor's grip and sank onto my bed, shame washing over me in waves. "I'm sorry, Thor," I mumbled, staring at the floor. I didn't dare look up for fear of seeing him angry at me.

To my surprise, Thor patted me on the head and gave a small chuckle. I chanced a quick glance upward and found him smiling down at me. "Do not feel badly, Mo. It is my fault you wandered off. I should not have left you alone, and for that, I apologize."

I smiled back at him, instantly feeling better. At least he wasn't mad at me, even though it really wasn't his fault. I hugged him around the waist because I was too short to do anything else. He laughed at my tininess and patted my head again. I laughed into his stomach.

Shortly after, I pulled away and sat back down on my bed. "How did things go with your father?" I asked, resting my chin on my knees.

"They went well. We had to discuss – "

I never got to find out what he was going to say, because there were suddenly loud voices coming from outside. Barely a second later, my door was kicked open, and there stood an anxious Barton and a slightly amused Stark.

Instantly, my eyes narrowed at the sight of them, and I forgot all previous thoughts of forgiveness. "It was unlocked, you dumb ass," I snarled.

Barton wasn't fazed. He rushed forward and took my face in his hands. "Mo, are you okay? What happened to your head?"

I remembered Loki slamming me against the bars to his cell and figured I must have a bruise or bump. As touched as I was by Barton's concern, I pushed him away and crossed my arms.

"Thor, buddy, glad to see you're still alive," Stark said with a grin. I scowled at him, but he ignored me. "What were the two of you doing?"

"I brought Mo with me to Asgard," Thor replied easily.

Stark fixed his brown eyes on my forehead. "So how _did_ you get that bump?"

I ran my fingers over it and winced. "I walked into a door," I lied. Now wasn't the right time to mention Loki'd pretty much attacked me.

"Klutz," Stark snickered.

Barton apparently didn't find it funny. "Are you okay?" he asked again.

_Besides the fact that my head hurts and Loki told me I'm going to kill myself, yes. I'm okay. I'm excellent. _I sighed and forced a smile on my face. "I'm fine, Barton." I paused, a question popping into my head. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Stark cleared his throat. "Do you want a drink, Thor?"

"Your Midgardian beverages have no effect on me," Thor said proudly, if a little unsure.

"You can have water, then, if that makes you feel better. Come on." Then Stark and Thor were gone, closing the door slightly before disappearing.

I watched them go from my seat on my bed. What was all that about? I glanced at Barton, who was looking like Stark had said something horribly offensive to him. He noticed me staring and tilted his head toward the door. "That was weird," he muttered conversationally.

I nodded, raising my eyebrows. Barton was being weird, too. "Yeah, it was."

Barton ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Mo – " he started, at the exact moment I'd said "Look, Barton." He stopped and laughed a little nervously, a small smile gracing his lips. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Go ahead."

"What are you doing here?" I asked again, trying to be a little kinder about how I said it. He looked like he had a lot on his mind, and as miffed at him as I was, I also wanted to move past the events from the night before and go back to being friends.

One of his hands lazily tugged on the hem of his shirt. "I wanted to apologize for last night," he finally spit out, looking like he was choking as he did so. Apparently, it was quite the struggle.

Without thinking, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his neck, laying my head on his shoulder. I was the right height for it because of my bed. I held him tight, though I didn't know why, and let his hands settle on my waist. His cheek rested on top of my head. Something about it just felt natural, like we did this every day. I could feel his heart beating in his chest, matching the tempo of my own. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing. The room was dead silent other than that.

"I forgive you," I whispered into the side of his neck. He answered just as quietly with a thank you. And then the silence resumed, just the two of us alone in a bedroom. Normally, that'd be seen as unusual, even by me, but it was just nice. There was nothing happening other than two friends hugging on Christmas Day. _If you'd consider the two of you friends, Mo,_ my inner voice pointed out.

Brendon's face suddenly seared into my brain, accompanied by Loki's wicked laughter, followed by something he'd said. _"You are afraid he may have some competition among your team."_ And then, _"Who is this knife in the boy's back? Is it Barton?"_

_No, _I shouted in my head. _I don't like Barton! And he sure as hell doesn't like me!_

I tried to pull out of his grip without making it seem too urgent. I smiled at Barton, meeting his blue eyes with a level gaze. "Merry Christmas, Barton," I said.

A faint smile appeared on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. Instead, his eyes looked distant and conflicted. In any case, he answered just as warmly as I had, "Merry Christmas, Mo."

OoOoO

That Christmas ended well. I was a little bummed that I couldn't spend it with my family, but there wasn't much I could do. Barton and Thor left soon after Barton and I's hug fest, so Stark and I ended up spending the day together. It wasn't that bad, actually. He bought me a box of chocolates, which I shared, since I hadn't thought to get him anything. Rogers, Banner, and Natasha called at different times to wish us a merry Christmas.

After Christmas came New Year's, which the seven of us spent together on the runway outside Stark Tower, where we watched the ball drop. Seeing as there were only two girls in our little group, and I'd pitched a fit last time I was kissed, we didn't celebrate it the traditional way. But I pecked Banner on the cheek to be funny. He was a little surprised at first, but then he laughed, and that got everyone else laughing, too.

Then came Valentine's Day, where I woke up to find a pile of roses waiting outside my door, one from each member of the team. Stark had bought me another container of chocolate, and I'd worked up the courage to ask Rogers to buy a bottle of alcohol for me so I could give it to Stark. He was a bit more thrilled by it than he should have been, but that's what I'd expected.

St. Patrick's Day wasn't too exciting, other than the fact that it gave Stark an excuse to drink. I made sure to hang out with Natasha that day, lest he try and kiss me. April Fool's Day was more fun, but I wasn't too happy about getting pushed off Stark Tower again. Once Stark realized that I wasn't wearing my boots, he suited up and rescued me. Needless to say, he got an earful after that.

After that was Mother's Day, in which I spent the day in my room, crying for half of it and sitting in numb silence the other half. Stark tried to get me to come out, but not being able to see my mother was wearing on me. The same went for Father's Day in June. I really wanted to call, but I wasn't allowed. I missed my family so badly it hurt.

Now it was July, after Independence Day (Stark set off a brilliant display of fireworks off the top of his tower). I was sitting on the couch in the living room, flipping through the channels on TV, wearing tiny shorts and a t-shirt. It was ungodly hot in the tower, and the light shining in from the wall of windows was not helping one bit. I'd been there for most of the morning when my earpiece beeped on.

"Mo, where's Stark?" boomed Fury's deep voice. "He's not answering me."

I snorted. "Nice to hear from you, too. He's still asleep, I think."

"Go wake him up. He needs to come in. _Now_."

I stood up from the couch and pressed a finger to my ear to better hear him. As I moved toward Stark's bedroom door, I asked, "What for? Is there more news of aliens?" We hadn't heard a word on our enemies in several months, and it was starting to worry me. The silence couldn't mean anything good.

"It's none of your business right now. Go get Stark."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled sarcastically.

I tried to twist the doorknob, but it was locked. That was probably for the best, anyway; I probably didn't want to see how Stark slept. Instead, I pounded my fist against the wood. "Stark!" I shouted. "Get your lazy ass up! Fury wants you to come in!"

There was a loud groan from the other side. "Stark! Come on!"

"Tell Fury he can shove his orders right up his uptight ass!" Stark shouted right back. There was the creak of mattress springs, and I assumed he'd rolled over into a different position.

"Maybe I will!"

"Do what you have to do to get him here, Mo." I'd almost forgotten Fury could hear everything I was saying.

I cleared my throat, suddenly having an idea. "_Stark!_" I yelled in my imitation-Fury voice. "_Get yourself out of bed before I break this goddamn door down!_"

There was a loud _thud_ from behind the door, like Stark'd fallen off the bed. Seconds later, the door clicked open, revealing a disheveled Stark standing hunched over in his boxers, dark bags under his eyes. My eyes roved to his stomach. He had nice abs. _Look at you, Mo, drooling over someone you hate._

His tired brown gaze was looking straight out, like he was seeing someone as tall as him. Noticing there was nobody there, he looked down to see me standing sheepishly in his doorway. "Not funny, Mo," he grumbled. Then he started to turn away and shut the door.

I'll admit it: I panicked. I flung myself forward and pounced on him, knocking the both of us to the ground. Trying to ignore the fact that I'd just kneed him in the groin by accident, I growled, "Fury needs you to come in, Stark. So get your ass over there."

He looked like he was in severe pain, and I sort of felt a little bad. But he managed to nod, so, using his rock-hard chest muscles as leverage, I pushed myself off him.

"Eh… Sorry about that," I said, trying not to laugh. I offered him a hand to help him up, but seeing as I was a scrawny sixteen-year-old, he mostly did all the work himself.

"S'all right," he groaned, bending over. "Did Fury say what he needed?"

I pressed my finger to my ear again. "What do you need him for?"

"Just tell him to get here."

I shrugged at Stark, who merely nodded, straightened up, and retreated into his room for clothes. "We're getting ready to leave now," I told Fury.

"No, Mo, you stay where you are. This meeting isn't necessary for you to attend."  
"What do you mean, it's not necessary? I'm a part of this team, too!" I argued.

"Just stay where you are." Then Fury's voice was gone from my ear, and I was left alone to makes loud noises of frustration. I had every intention of going to that meeting, and I'd be damned if Fury tried to stop me.

Stark returned from his room shortly after that exchange and raised one eyebrow at me. "I'm going with you," I snapped, glaring at him, daring him to tell me no.

But he just shrugged and motioned toward the elevator. "Let's go, then, before Fury sends Banner after our asses."

I cracked a smile and followed Stark into the elevator. He had a short conversation with Jarvis on the way down, filled with technical terminology that I didn't understand. So I tuned them out and leaned against the wall. My mind was racing, trying to figure out what it was that Fury was attempting to keep from me. Not that he really had any reason to trust me. I _did_ jump out of the helicarrier, against his orders. But, still; I was a part of the team. And Stark had probably made worse decisions than me. Right?

When the elevator opened on the ground floor, I was so caught up in my own thoughts that Stark had to grab me by my elbow and pull me out. By the time I noticed, I was being thrown into the back of one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. cars.

"For wanting to go so badly, you've got a funny way of showing it," Stark grumbled, sliding into the seat next to me.

I rubbed my eye with my knuckles in an effort to clear my head. "Sorry," I answered. "But, thanks."

He scoffed in reply and leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes. I watched him for a few moments before mimicking what he was doing.

Car rides were usually relaxing for me, especially when I had my iPod, but that still hadn't been found, and I had too much on my mind. Maybe it was just a routine meeting for them, and it was just boring stuff that I didn't need to know. But, if that was the case, wouldn't they have one every month? This was the first time they hadn't let me go with, and that troubled me.

The car rolled to a smooth stop on a landing pad. I poked Stark in the side to wake him up and piled out of the vehicle right behind him. A slick black jet was waiting for us. One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents grabbed my arm to help me up, as I was too short to climb in like Stark and the rest of them.

The flight up to the helicarrier was short and sweet. I mostly stared out the window, watching the passing clouds. Would Fury be mad that I was there? What could he really do about it, though? He couldn't send me home; he'd already made that clear. Keep me on lockdown, probably. But there are ways to get around that.

I barely noticed the walk across the flight deck, or the fierce wind that blew my curls against my mouth and nose, or the slight jog down the never-ending hallways. But I did notice the group of people standing in the conference room, and I noticed how all at once, their heads turned to stare at me as I trailed in behind Stark.

Thor, Banner, Natasha, Barton, and Rogers were all there, as well as a few agents that I've never spoken to but vaguely recognized. Fury was nowhere to be seen, and I thanked my lucky stars for it. Although, judging from the looks on everyone's faces, now wasn't the time for celebrating.

Rogers broke away from the group and walked over to us. His expression was grave, and he looked his true age. His blue eyes met mine with what looked like…pity? What did he have to pity me for? _That's probably not it,_ I thought hopefully.

"Nice of you to join us," he said to Stark, but nothing in his tone sounded angry or even mildly irritated. He nodded in my direction. "Why did you bring her?"

I couldn't find it in me to be hurt at his words. Rogers was not a mean person. "She insisted on coming with me," Stark replied, purposefully not looking at me. Clearly, he had a guess as to what was going on. Was I the only one that didn't?

Rogers placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "You need to leave." His voice had suddenly turned urgent, and there was an intensity in his gaze that I hadn't seen before.

I worked up a slight ounce of courage and asked, "Why? Why can't I know what's happening?"

Rogers sighed and shook his head. "Not now, Mo. At least go wait in the hallway. Please."

My eyes sought out those of my other teammates. Thor looked pissed off about something, but when he caught me watching, his expression softened. Banner was shaking his head at me like Rogers had. Natasha was curling and uncurling her fists and refusing to acknowledge I was trying to convince her to let me stay. Barton looked sad when he turned his gaze to mine. I glanced back at the door before looking at him again. He'd followed my line of vision and nodded, indicating that I needed to go. So I did.

I gave Rogers a last, pleading glance, but he gently pushed my shoulder and told me again to wait in the hall. Now feeling utterly depressed, I trudged out of the room and closed the door behind me.

With my back against the wall, I slid down until I was sitting on the floor with my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around them, feeling a little hurt that they kicked me out.

I'd barely sat there for five minutes when Fury came stalking around the corner, looking ready to kill someone. That look turned meaner when he saw me sitting there outside the conference room. "I told you to stay at the Tower!" he snapped, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Oh, don't worry," I snarled. "They all made sure I have no idea what's even happening!"

That seemed to placate him, for he merely sniffed in my direction before opening the door and slipping inside. I glared at his retreating back before settling back against the wall. I thought about going to visit Taylor in the infirmary, but didn't want to risk missing the end of the meeting. I wanted answers.

An hour and a half later, I had dozed off with my face pressed into my knees, when a sudden loud crash made me jump. Mere seconds later, the door swung open, so fast it was in danger of flying off its hinges. Stark came storming out, fists clenched, rage darkening his features.

I quickly got to my feet, eyes widening in surprise. "Stark? What's the matter?"

He ignored me and grasped my arm roughly, tugging me along the hallway beside him. I was a little freaked out, and looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching this scene play out. The crowd of people from before was now clustered in the narrow space. The Avengers team, excluding Stark and I, were at the front, watching us go with mixed emotions. There was sympathy, concern, and the look of the hour: sadness. And it pissed me off to no end.

"Stark, let go of me. I'm capable of walking, you know." Immediately, his grip loosened and I was free. But he was walking faster now, and I had to jog a little to keep up.

We clambered into a different jet, Stark grabbing me around the waist to toss me inside. I glared at him from where I landed on the floor, but he showed no sign of noticing. The fury on his face was heated enough that it made me think someone had burned down his tower, melted down all his Iron Man suits, and thrown every last bottle of alcohol he owned off the top of the Empire State Building.

Neither of us spoke until we were back at Stark Tower, and walking out of the elevator. By that time, I was panting from the effort of keeping up with him and the fear of being left behind.

He was about to go into his bedroom, but I jumped forward and grabbed his arm. "Stark," I growled. He looked down at me. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

"Someone's been kidnapped by the aliens," he replied curtly.

My mouth fell open. "We're going to go save them, right?"

"Not 'we'. You're not going." I was about to launch into a whole torrent of verbal abuse, but he kept going. "And neither am I." After saying that, he turned and kicked at the wall, swearing loudly from the pain. But, apparently, that wasn't enough to satisfy his obvious outrage, so he punched the wall, too. The curse words were shouted at the top of his lungs.

Sighing, I shoved him toward the sitting area and pushed him onto the couch. He landed heavily, slumped across the cushions. He didn't even bother to correct his position; he just glared at the opposite wall. I shook my head at him and crossed to the kitchen, grabbing an icepack out of the freezer. I wrapped it in a dishtowel and carried it back to him, handing it over and ordering him to put it on his hand. His knuckles were starting to bruise.

With that done, I seated myself on the coffee table across from him. He made a face, like he objected to my makeshift chair, but I shushed him before he could say anything about it. "Explain what's going on," I demanded, fixing him with an icy stare.

"I already told you. Some kid was kidnapped by the aliens, so the team is flying to where I pinpointed their location and getting him back. And we're being left behind, because we are, and I quote, 'too unstable to properly execute this mission, and we want to just get in and out'." Stark rolled his eyes and readjusted the icepack on his hand.

I raised my eyebrows. "Ouch. Did Fury say that?"

"No, Rogers."

"Wow." That kind of surprised me. I didn't think Rogers was capable of being that harsh. I mean, I was pretty reckless, and so was Stark, but we weren't a grenade about to go off; we could easily assist in rescuing some kid.

A sudden thought struck me. "Wait a second. Who's the kid?"

Stark cleared his throat and looked away. "Just some guy." Before I could convince him to elaborate for me, his finger flew to his ear. "God dammit, Rogers, I really am not in the mood to talk to you right now!" He paused. "Wait, _what_?"

He stood from the couch and walked quickly into his bedroom before I could stop him. His door slammed shut behind. I could hear his voice, but it was too faint for me to make out any of the words. Whatever was going on in that conversation, it couldn't be good if Stark had to leave to talk to Rogers, who he was currently ticked off at.

My mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario: Brendon being the person kidnapped by the aliens. My heart clenched in my chest and my pulse quickened. _Oh, God, please don't let it be him, _I begged whoever was listening to my prayers. As to whether it God or someone else, I didn't care in that moment.

When Stark returned, finished with his conversation, I was starting to find it difficult to breathe. How could Loki ever think I'd love Barton over Brendon, when clearly the thought of Brendon's capture brought me close to tears?

"Hey? What's wrong?" Stark asked, tilting his head at me as he walked back over.

I swallowed several times and tried to calm my rapidly-beating heart before I ignored his question and instead asked, "What did Rogers want?"

Stark crouched down until he was eyelevel with me. He gripped my upper arms tightly and shook me slightly to get me to look him in the eye. "Mo, listen to me. I need to do exactly as I say, and don't question me, all right?" When I nodded, he continued. "As soon as we're done with this little chat, you need to go suit up and meet me right back here. We're leaving."

"Leaving?" I asked, slightly confused. Last I'd heard, we were too "unstable" to be of any use. Now they wanted us?

"It was all just an act, apparently. Rogers didn't mean any of it. We're meeting him and the other three on the roof in twenty minutes. They've got one of the jets. We're gonna rescue the guy tonight."

Feeling a lot calmer than I had previously, I grabbed his arms, too. With a voice laced with an urgency I didn't normally use, I asked again, "Stark. Who is it?"

Do you ever tell yourself that you're prepared for any answer to come spilling out of a person's mouth, and even if you're not, you know you'll be able to handle it? You're delusional if you do. Because I'd spent those few minutes imaging not the worst-case scenario, but something completely inferior and selfish, and made me look like a horrible person. It wasn't Brendon they'd taken.

"It's Adam, Mo," Stark whispered. "They took your brother."


End file.
